


Tu Sangre Es Mi Sangre, Es Tu Sangre (Your Blood Is My Blood, Is Your Blood)

by Phantom_Vidar



Category: Spider-Man (Video Games 2018-2020), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I am absolutely going to hell for this......, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, a fun lil' fieldtrip, but it'll be fun!!!!!, like a group excursion, wait...did I say fun????? my bad I meant unbearably painful, welcome to hell :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28325427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantom_Vidar/pseuds/Phantom_Vidar
Summary: Miles always comes to Peter for everything— naturally, it leads to something more.(Set almost a year after the events of the second game.)
Relationships: Miles Morales/Peter Parker
Comments: 19
Kudos: 38





	1. Caught In Your Web

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly hustled to write this straight through in a little under two weeks. It was intense... to say the least.
> 
> Especially since there's practically no content for them from the video games, which is like, truly unacceptable.
> 
> Also, I wrote this with Peter's old face model in mind (cause fuck that new one, I hate it so much). But you're free to imagine whichever you prefer.
> 
> Everything in Spanish will be translated in the notes after!!!!
> 
> Enjoy!!! :)

He slinks through his window, his scraped knuckles and tired hands fiddling with the latch right before he manages to get it closed. He knows why he's here, why he always comes to his right after patrol and crashes on his couch till morning. Loneliness was a hell of a motivator when your only company was criminal heists, civilian grievances and the inside of a physics classroom. He knows Peter doesn't mind, doesn't tell him no every time he swings by and crawls into his living room, a blanket on top of him when he wakes up and a warm cup of coffee waiting for him— maybe even breakfast. He likes having a friend, someone to look up to and who knows what he's going through, who's been where he is. He knows especially how Peter needs the company, lest he start talking to himself and go crazy all cooped up on his own.

But this time, it's different. He's pretty sure he's cracked a rib and the blood pooling down his chest sure wasn't looking too good, but Peter would know; he always knew what to do.

He slinks further, trying not to make so much of a sound as he steps over the balcony and into Peter's bedroom. The bed's empty but he recognizes his scent still in the room. It mixes in with the smell of tea, still warm and misting in the air as his old copy of Dune rests by the nightstand, partly open and almost done. Miles steps closer, zips to the ceiling just as Peter comes in, his towel wrapped around his waist as he looks down at him. Miles blinks, partly in shock as Peter stops in his tracks, the towel he was using to dry his hair going limp in his hands. He stills, breath muffled partly from the mask but still frozen as he watches him, the nerves in his body burning in pain the longer he stays there, but Peter just sighs, his back rippling as he extends his shoulders out; the crack of his spine sounding alarmingly clear inside the empty room.

"You know, I can tell you're there."

Peter turns in place and cranes his neck back to look right at him, his mouth quirking upwards. Miles watches fixedly as the water runs down his chest.

 _'_ ** _That_ ** _is definitely superhuman.'_

"I—" Miles starts just before Peter cuts him off. He flings the towel at his face and he catches it midair, his chest twinging in pain— a small grunt coming from his mouth as Peter stares. "I didn't know if you had… company."

"So you stalk me from my bedroom ceiling?"

"It's not like that. I didn't just want to barge in… and _MJ_ be here," he whispers, almost like a child. Peter keeps looking at him, his large eyes like a beacon. Hurt hiding behind his usual lively expression.

"I'm just messing with you, Miles." He peers up, lashes resting against bone, his eyes squinting the closer he gets. Peter's hand stretches forward then, his fingers coming to touch upon the scratches in his suit, steady fingers soft against his skin, only to come back stained in red. Miles holds his breath as he lays his palm flat against his stomach. Peter feels warm— _familiar,_ and yet completely different. He keeps his hand there, quiet as he examines him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"

"I was going to."

"When? After you finished bleeding out?" He looks up at his face then, taps on his chest to bring him down and Miles complies. "Sit, I'll get the kit."

He feels like an intruder as soon as Peter leaves, uncomfortable in his own skin as he takes off his mask and strips halfway inside his childhood hero's room; his skin burning with embarrassment as he sits on the bed. Miles lets his hands run over his sheets, aching fingers tracing across the stitching on his old comforter, one he clearly recognizes from back when he was crashing at May's for a while. Back when Peter didn't have a job, or an apartment or… anything really. It was just him, Miles, ( _and_ _MJ_ ) both of them patrolling together as the sun set and going through the night right before he sent Miles home at dawn. They didn't talk as often then but he had wanted to. God, had he wanted to.

Miles leans back, stares at Peter's ceiling, his racing thoughts overtaking his mind. He doesn't hear Peter come in, doesn't feel him till his shadow is standing over him, caring eyes looking down at him soft and tender _,_ and much _too_ _lovely_ for Miles to handle at this time of night— or any time really. His ankles cross as Peter steps forward, his knee resting against the edge of the bed. He tries to sit up only to be pushed back down.

"What about—"

"Relax. I've got this." He adds, a small tilt to his lips. "I think I know a thing or two about basic first aid. Patched myself up more times that I can count." Miles doesn't argue, doesn't say anything as Peter scoots next to him and pulls out the bandages.

Only he realizes (a little too late, he might add), that Peter hasn't changed at all, hasn't even dried his hair as he works to disinfect his cuts, his breath ghosting over Miles' skin until he gets goosebumps. He feels awkward next to him, doesn't know where to put his hands while Pete works on him. His mind suddenly flashing with an image of his arm wrapped around his waist, his hand placed on Peter's back, right at the base of his spine, and Miles freezes.

That definitely _wasn't_ allowed.

 _'But what if it was?'_ his brain echoes, and now he feels even more like a traitor.

Peter wasn't like that— didn't _swing_ that way. Of that he was sure of. But it didn't stop Miles from thinking of him in that way, to imagine his body and what it would look like on top of his and doing _things._ The fantasies his mind came up with were insane, almost limitless at this point with Peter as the central point of his wet dreams, (the ultimate dream being him himself). Just alone, him, in his entirety. Now that, Miles could fuck with— had been wanting it for months now.

He lays there, breath caught in his throat and his thoughts running wild as Peter places the last of the bandages on his abdomen. He tries to remember the sensation of his fingers pushing the fabric down flush against him, how they felt, how Peter's palms rested against his skin, how he _looked_ at him as if Miles wasn't watching. He takes him in, tries to burn the way he looks into his mind and save it for later but ultimately gives up as he catches Peter's eyes trailing down; his gaze fixed on something else. Miles startles as Peter scratches his nail against the edge of a larger cut.

"Sorry." He looks apologetic, and much too soft again. Miles tries desperately not to notice, just for the sake of his sanity. "I can't patch this one up in good conscience. Even if I put something on top of this, it'd just bleed right through. We need to cauterize it first…" Miles gives him a questioning look." Unless you want to bleed out all over my bed. It's up to you."

"Nah, man. I trust you. Do what you have to do." Miles says, groggy and much too tired for whatever bullshit was about to happen. Peter grins anyway and his stomach drops.

" _I_ won't be doing anything." He leans back, his hair hanging over his eyes in an almost endearing way. "Give me a hand."

Miles complies, the confusion apparent on his face until Peter leads his hand right to the cut. He digs his finger into it without thinking, the tip pushing hard on the muscle inside as he tries sizing it up.

" _Fuck."_

He hisses just as he hits a nerve.

"Why would you do that?" Peter asks incredulously, a stunned look on his face right before he breaks out into laughter.

Miles grimaces.

"I wanted to see how deep it went."

"You could've just asked me, you know."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"You find fun in being hurt? That's new." Peter says, and he swears he catches something else as his voice drifts off.

"Says the dude that fights a new crime boss every other night. I have a feeling there's more than one masochist in the room, and it definitely isn't the one in black." Miles gets up on his elbows, his face close to Peter's, but far away enough that it can't be read as anything other than friendly. "I'll give you a hint, though: It rhymes with heater."

"Oh, is that all? I think I need a little more than that." Peter says, teasing, but there's something else Miles' senses aren't quite picking up on. A flash of a look gone too quick and he's missed it.

"Nah. I think you can figure it out," Miles says, bringing his arms back behind his head.

"Do I at least get three chances to guess?"

"Sure," Miles supplies. "Hit me with it."

Miles stops, but the word lingers in the air, barely locked away behind his lips, aching to come out.

_'Hit me with it, babe.'_

He tries imagining it, wants to know what Peter's face would look like just as he says it ( _if_ he says it), how it would feel to say it, especially— if it would feel right, like it belonged to him.

"Is it Heather?"

"Heather?" Miles sputters. "Why her? It doesn't even rhyme."

"You did say masochist. She clearly fits the bill if she went on a date with you."

"That's fucked up, dude."

"You info dump like crazy when you're nervous. It's adorable. Really."

"You _were_ watching me! I knew it!" Miles turns to face him on the bed and Peter shifts back.

"For your own safety of course! We were on a mission. It's only right for me to watch over my partner."

_Partner._

Miles mulls it over in his mind, his chest warming and becoming bubbly the longer he thinks about it and its… _implications_. He could get used to being called Peter's partner. Maybe for life.

"Sure, man. Whatever you say. Can we get back to what's really important now? I'm dying over here."

"On it, boss." He comes back to him then, his face inches from Miles own. "Actually, I can't help for this. But damn, have I been wanting to see this up close."

"What are you talking about?"

"How did you think we were planning on cauterizing your little friend? Magic?" Realization dawns on him, and Miles feels, not for the first time, like a complete idiot.

"My bioelectricity…"

"Bingo." He says, triumphantly. "You've figured it out."

"No thanks to you."

"Actually, all thanks to me. So get on it, amigo."

"I find that offensive," he bites back, but Peter just pushes him back down, Miles' head hitting the end of the bed as he looms over him. "Just for that, I'm not giving you a show."

"Were you previously?" He tilts his head, "Is that why you insisted on breaking into my apartment in the most dramatic way possible?"

"I was going for vaguely intimidating."

"I'm sorry to break your heart like this, but you could not have failed your objective more clearly. Zero stars out of ten."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate the support." Peter lets his gaze linger, the corners of his eyes lifting up in mirth. "No, truly."

He feels too close for comfort now, Peter's face inches from his own, his eyes trained on his lower chest in utter fascination; waiting for Miles to show out.

Peter wanted to watch, he wanted a show— he'd give him one.

He closes his eyes and concentrates on the feeling, pulls deep down from inside until he feels the fire burning, his aching bones caught aflame as they illuminate in striking orange. He opens his eyes just enough to where he can see Pete's face light up, the haze of the gold reflecting off his eyes and right back into Miles'. He knows he's staring but he doesn't care, knows he's fucked if he's this enchanted by another man's face— especially if it's Peter's.

He lets it keep going until his whole chest is outlined by orange and he can see his rib cage peeking through before placing his hand over the cut. It stings, but not any more than usual, the smell of burning flesh only overpowered by Peter's own scent. _Which smells so fucking good._ Miles breathes it in, focuses on it as the last patch of skin is finalized.

"Show off." Miles turns to face him, stops dead in his tracks when Peter's right in front of him, inches away, lips poised into a smirk.

"You're just jealous." He whispers, that same stupid smile on his face. He doesn't know what to do, can't think of anything else except kissing him. But he doesn't want to ruin whatever this is… doesn't want to push Peter away because of something like this.

But Peter doesn't care, doesn't even think as he sits up, completely impervious to Miles' inner crisis.

"I think…" he licks his lips, subtle, almost to the point where Miles can't even tell, eyes scanning everywhere but his face. "I think we should get the rest of these taken care of."

"Yeah?" Miles says but it's completely in the wrong context, breathless and he doesn't even know what he's agreeing to anymore. His brain and his body were currently in two separate places, one dizzy and drunk on the thought of Peter close to him, taking care of him and then _more,_ the other trying to reel him in so he doesn't fuck up another friendship.

But it's so fucking _hard_.

"Here. You have another one." He points to Miles' thigh, where once he looks down he notices another large gash going from the outside of his thigh to his knee. Peter's hand brushes past it and he looks up at him, almost as if asking for permission. Miles stares, feels himself nod, his brain trying to process what exactly is going on as Peter kneels in front of him. He shudders as his hands come to his suit, tries his hardest not to look him in the eyes— to not feel like his chest is about to collapse as Peter brings his leg up and places it over his knee. A short glance and he's looking up at him with those big doe eyes. _God— fuck, fuck, fuck._ "We'll need to take off the rest of your suit for this one. Sorry, bud," he says but Miles gets the feeling he's not really sorry at all.

He wants to lie down and play dead, shut his eyes and pretend as if Peter isn't in the same exact position he had always imagined him in, anything to not give away how incredibly turned on he is right at this moment. But he can't. He can't stop watching, wants to lean forward and look down at him, run his hands through his hair and pull until Peter's looking up at him, pretty eyes on display as he takes it. He wants to hear him say it, to tell Miles how much he's wanted him, how he loves the way he _tastes_. But he doesn't. He sits, like the good boy he is, patiently waiting as Peter rolls the last of his suit off his hips and down his legs. Miles tries to help, lifts his legs one by one only to have Peter hold him up as he slides it off him… which honestly makes it even _worse_. Because now he wants him even more, can't shut out the way his arms flexed as they held him or the very vivid mental images they conjured up.

_Fuck._

"How do you wanna handle this one? Another light show or bandages?" Miles is too caught up in his own world to hear him, doesn't come to and answer until Peter slides his hand up his calf, his fingers reaching close to the inside of his thigh and pressing until he feels a light indent.

_Oh._

Oh now he was really fucking with him. No mixed signals in sight.

"Huh?"

"Do you…" he pauses and Miles sees the uncertainty in his eyes. Was this not what he wanted? Was it all just some sort of test? Did he want Miles to push him off or _just see if he actually would?_ Because if he was looking for answers he certainly got them. "Do you want me to take care of it or do you wanna take over?" He says softly, the perfect vision of innocence with that same smirk from earlier— except his voice is different this time. A little deeper, almost husky on the last syllable. Miles tries not to lose it right then and there, decides to test the waters a little bit first before he just pounces.

 _'Do you want me to take care of it?'_ Miles sees Peter in his mind, like _that_ but different, _'I can take care of you.'_

Another kiss to the inside of his thigh, a swift pull as he gets on top—

_'Let me take care of you.'_

He shakes the image loose.

"Nah. You've got it," he says, voice soft but charged, almost teetering on delicate— knows that Peter likes it when people let him take control just as much as he likes giving it up.

He can act coy too, secretly loves the way Peter's eyes light up and his jaw clenches, his sense of control barely in check as he leans forward.

"Okay." He slides his hand over his knee, right at the edge of his thigh, light fingers brushing over his skin as he gets closer to the gash. "I can do that— I can _definitely_ do that."

They don't say anything else, neither of them wanting to ruin the moment and acknowledge what's actually going on, or put to words what it is: a dirty romp, hidden under moonlight and tucked away in some shoddy apartment.

Peter doesn't look at him anymore, doesn't even breathe inside the tight space as he works between Miles' legs, his knee tucked into the dip under his thigh and his chest pressed against the side of it. Miles holds his breath too, doesn't dare move as quick fingers reach for some ointment and patch him up with even more urgency. Peter looks up when he's done, his brows framing his face almost perfectly as he leans down, his mouth inches away from his skin.

Miles thinks this is exactly the right moment to lose it as Peter presses his lips to the side of his knee, kissing right above the laceration before he moves to the inside of his thigh. A soft press and he goes higher, moves to the top of his leg, closer to his hip than before. Miles stares, completely caught off guard.

"I think you're all good," Peter says, his voice fully back to normal, as if he wasn't inches away from Miles' dick five seconds ago— as if he wasn't feeling him up and looking at Miles in just the right way to where it could be considered downright dangerous. Violent even.

Miles swallows, reaches out for him before he can catch himself, his hand gripping Peter's forearm just as he's about to step back.

_Fuck that._

"No, I'm not all good." He says, dazedly.

"I don't see any more wounds, Miles. I think we got them all. But I can check again if you want?"

_Oh, hell no._

"That's not what I meant." Miles tries to slow his breathing and concentrate but all he can smell is Peter, can feel him all around him, hears his heart pulsing in his ears and he's so _close_ , and—

"Then tell me," Peter says and Miles hears that same tone of voice come back, the one from minutes before, the one that told Miles just how badly Peter wanted to just _devour_ him— the same one that was barely holding back from doing just that.

He stands up then, leans into Miles until he's caging him in back onto the bed, his arms pinning him between his chest and the mattress. He moves his legs subconsciously, parts them slightly so Peter can fit between them better.

"Tell me what you want, Miles."

He's looking at him then, intense in a way that's too much for Miles to presently handle. But he holds his ground, lets himself be pinned while Peter sizes him up.

"I…" he stalls, not wanting to say it out loud.

"Go on."

"I want to kiss you," he says hurriedly. His face burns. "But…"

"But?"

"What about MJ? Aren't you two…" He makes a face, leaves it as a question.

"Together?" Peter finishes for him, then laughs, but it's pained, not as genuine as it usually is. "No, Miles. We're not. Haven't been for a while."

"Then what's been going on? You meeting up with her, spending time at her place— going on dates."

It's silent for a bit, seconds really, and yet it feels like longer as he lays there, feeling like a complete idiot. Of course he'd bring her up and then make it a bigger deal than it was.

Peter sighs but there's a certain humor in it, as if there's a joke somewhere in there that Miles just isn't getting.

"Yeah, for _work._ Don't get me wrong, I love MJ but it's been more than a year now. It just wasn't working out. Not then and definitely not now. Especially _because_ of the whole powers thing, and even _more_ after the whole Devil's Breath _thing_ — and between Aunt May dying and Otto going all berserk and your…" he stifles himself, tries to come up with the right words without going on a tangent and saying more than he needs to but he can't stop, the nervous energy running high as he holds himself up over Miles. Effortlessly agile and Miles definitely doesn't find it hot… not at all. "And your dad… dying and then your mutation, you moving and then me being homeless and F.E.A.S.T falling into ruin. It was a lot to juggle. I couldn't keep up and we just drifted apart."

He wants to say he's sorry, feels like shit for not knowing just what exactly Peter went through all this time, but he doesn't.

"You could've stayed with me. With my mom and I. We could've helped you, gave you a place to stay. All that," Miles says and Peter smiles, bright and shiny but yet so incredibly sad. His heart aches just seeing it.

"You're missing the point, Miles." He gets out in a chuckle.

"Which is?" He says, totally aloof.

"I've had some time to think. And…" he draws it out, looks at Miles in a way that's completely vulnerable.

"And?"

"I wasn't happy. My life went to shit, I lost everyone I loved, and only _one_ thing ever made any of it better."

"What was it?"

Peter laughs and he gets that same feeling of wanting to kiss him all over again, intense and wholly overwhelming.

"For someone so smart you're sure slow on the uptake."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's you, Miles." A dip and he's breathing him in, Peter's lips dangerously close. "You're the only thing that made my life better. The one thing that kept me going. The _only_ thing that made me want to get up and push myself to be better— to do better. It's you."

Oh.

_Oh._

"I think…" Peter stops, gets this pained look on his face. "I think I love you and I don't know what that means. I don't know what to do."

Miles knows it's rude, knows that Peter is pouring his heart out to him right now but he can't help himself, can't take the way his chest is basically on fire with Peter just a touch away from him, bodies so close that all he has to do is reach for him and take.

"How long?" He's breathless, doesn't even try to hide it. Wants to show Peter just how bad he wants him too. "Tell me."

"Miles… Come on, man."

"I told you what you wanted to hear, now it's your turn."

"Do I really have to?"

"Yes." He lets himself touch him, gentle hands coming to the front of Peter's towel, a finger digging into the knot there and pulling softly, just enough to tempt him but not hard enough to actually set it loose.

"You play dirty, you know that? And it's totally not fair."

"I gotta keep up somehow. Now tell me. I promise I won't laugh, or judge you or whatever. Just tell me, bro."

Peter laughs.

"Are you seriously calling me bro while we're like this? Your hand is practically on my dick, Miles."

He ignores the way he flushes at the word. As if Peter wasn't a whole grown adult and fully capable of talking dirty. Which… hot.

_Again._

"Bros can be hoes too, I guess."

"Right. Totally."

"Peter, you're stalling."

"I know." He bends down, presses his nose against Miles' cheek, his mouth curving upwards as he breathes him in. "I know. By the way… have I mentioned how good you smell? It's literally insane. You have no idea how crazy it's been driving me these past few months. Every time you came around it took all the impulse control I had _not_ to jump you, y'know that?" He whispers right into his ear, dirty and way too intimate, and Miles feels his face burn up.

" _Peter."_ Miles tries again, careful to control his voice so he doesn't give away just how bad Peter's got him but he can sense it anyway, nibbles on his ear and it takes everything in him not to say, " _fuck it,_ " and let it happen.

"Just like that. Your scent is flaring up like crazy."

"Pete, man, stop messing around."

Peter backs off and looks at him again, really grinning this time, Miles bookmarking in his mind all the questions he has for later until whatever this is gets dealt with.

"Yeah, yeah. God, you're persistent."

"Just tell me. I'm not gonna say anything. I just wanna know. Cause…" he stops again, tries to find the right words so he doesn't sound so fucking needy. "I like you too— like, _a lot_."

Peter pauses too, looks at him for a bit too long and Miles sees a sudden flash of guilt before he finally cracks.

"A year."

That definitely wasn't the answer he was expecting.

"Oh, shit." He sputters and Peter cringes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Two words: statutory— actually, god, I can't even say it. You know why, Miles— you were a minor. You still are, actually. I felt all gross about it."

"Peter, man, we're only like seven years apart. It's not like you're old enough to be my dad or anything. Chill."

"I know."

"More like my older br—"

"Please. Don't even say it. I'm really having a moment here and I don't want to think about how I'm your older _anything_ while we're like this. Especially if…" he trails off, gets that look on his face again and Miles knows that he's trying to hold back, feels his arms shake next to him. He catches enough of his face to notice that his eyes are blown wide, the green of his irises amplified the longer Peter looks at him. His gaze completely transfixed on him.

Miles leans forward then, tries to keep his eyes open long enough to watch as Peter gives in and practically melts into him, soft and entirely too gentle as he kisses him back. It's sweet, really. He keeps most of his weight off of him yet Miles can feel everything pressing against him. Peter's skin is soft and devoid of any scars. Everywhere he touches it's just baby smooth which is… weird just on its own. He was expecting way more battle scars, but he's not complaining and Peter definitely isn't either.

He drags his hands up his chest slowly, shaking as he goes over the ripples on his ribs, only pausing when he gets to the large scar underneath his collarbone. He lets his hand rest over it, all the while wishing he could erase it from Peter's body and leave his own mark instead. Miles doesn't shy away from it though, wants to feel every little thing— to touch Peter in exactly the right ways until he knows him from touch alone, wants to keep going until he can taste him on his tongue and then some more.

_How the hell did he even taste this good, anyway?_

"Uh, Pete…" it's muffled, but just loud enough that Peter stops. He trails away, backs off until he can see his face again.

"What's up? Talk to me."

Miles hesitates long enough that it becomes concerning.

"I, uh— this is all really nice, but, uh…"

Peter frowns, reads him all wrong and suddenly he's getting off of him before Miles can protest.

"No, Pete— that's not what I meant— just wait. Slow down—"

He manages to grab him by the shoulders just as he's about to stand up, pulls him back in until he's hovering over him again, inches away and he kisses him again. Peter looks at him after, confused and yet just as turned on as before.

"I didn't mean for you to stop. I just… you're my first… _everything_."

Peter stops, gets suddenly eerily still on top of him before he really decides to get off.

" _Oh_."

Miles grimaces, sits up as he watches him curl in on himself.

"I knew you'd freak out."

"No, no, no, I'm not freaking out, I'm just—"

"And you're freaking out."

"Fine." He brings his hands up, "Just a little. But if you're worried that I'm not gonna want you because of it or _whatever_ the case may be… I'm not that kind of guy, Miles. It's just…"

"What?"

"This is a lot on me. I've got to think of what's best for you, even if that means waiting. You're seventeen, dude. Do you really want me to be your first?"

"I'll be eighteen in a couple of months, though."

"Not the point."

"Not my point either. What I'm trying to say is…hell yeah I want you to be my first. What's better than losing it to Spider-Man?" Both of them grimace and Miles realizes a little too late how it was entirely the wrong thing to say. "Wait, that's not— let me try again. What I mean is, even if you weren't Spider-Man, and I wasn't… me, I'd still want to lose it to you because I know you actually care about me. Regardless of whatever's going on in our lives, you always find a way to put me first and make sure I'm okay. You always have. It's one of my favorite things about you, how you're so selfless all the time. Plus, who else can take what you dish out all the way like I can? We've both got super powers or whatever," he continues, sheepish, a twinge in his voice, "you can't break me, you can't even be too rough cause I can go toe to toe with you. You can let loose and not worry about having to be so gentle all the time. Isn't that something your ideal partner should have?"

Those were actually… _a lot of good points._

"That was way too smooth at the end. You've been rehearsing for this or something? I mean, it's sweet but Jesus, Miles… I'm trying really hard not to lose control here. I'm _trying_ to be a responsible adult with you, but you make it so damn hard."

"I'm sure I do," he says, fighting off a smirk.

"You're impossible. And horrible."

"What's so bad in saying that? In admitting it, I mean. I like you, you like me, it's not that complicated. Who cares if you'll be twenty-six next year; I'm gonna graduate soon, anyway."

" _Miles."_

"We're both Spider-Man. I put my life in danger everyday. I get shot at, punched and kicked till I'm throwing up blood. Can being with you really be worse than that?"

Peter stops, mulls it over, then looks at him again.

"I don't know… These are tough questions, Miles. There's too much going on with the both of us for this to just be a black and white issue. I need to make sure, for the both of us, that I'm leading you to make the best possible decisions. Regardless if it's what I want or not."

"Stop doing that," he says, rougher than he means. "Stop babying me as if I can't make my own choices. Last I checked I'm still seventeen. I've _been_ seventeen this whole time! You were literally all on top of me five minutes ago and you sure as hell weren't worried about 'making the best possible decisions' _until_ you found out you were gonna be my first. All because you froze up and panicked and now you're wondering if you really want to do me— like you were going to originally— because now I'm a _'kid'_. Make up your mind, Peter. Either you love me or you don't. Either you want me or you don't— regardless of whatever the hell is going on out there. You're all I've got. I can't lose you too, man."

He sighs, looks older now than Miles ever remembers seeing him.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, except that I've officially let this go way too far."

"We haven't even started yet and already you're shutting me out. This can't work if you don't see me as your equal first. You know that."

This was like the whole MJ situation all over again

He shuts his eyes, wanting desperately for Miles to be wrong and for this to all go away and be simple again, yet knowing fully well that he's incapable of ever shutting him out.

Not for real, anyway.

"You _are_ my equal, Miles. Always have been. I'm not debating that. I just… I don't want to disappoint you, and I really, _really_ don't want to hurt you. Can't you see that?"

"Yeah, I do… and I also know you never would." He gets closer, puts his face right in front of Peter's to the point where he can't do anything else except pay attention to him. "Stop thinking so hard about it. It's just me and you. Right here, right now."

Miles climbs over him slowly, one leg after the other until he's sitting on his lap, Peter's hands pressed flush to his back. He lets him hold him then, stays still as Peter buries his face into his chest, a lazy kiss over his sternum that trails up to his neck and over his jaw. Now more than ever he can feel Peter's pulse vibrating through his skin, it rises steadily each second, ringing in his ears till it's all he can hear. It's usually deeper than his, slower too, but not anymore. It quickens under his grip, as if trying to match up to Miles' own.

"I meant what I said earlier…" he starts, soft as Peter nuzzles against his jugular. His hands grip his waist now and Miles' vision swims, the room spinning as he bites down on the skin there. A quick sharp pain and then it's gone, replaced instead with a lick down into his shoulder.

Peter doesn't stop, but he does motion to Miles that he's listening as he continues kissing him. It was nice, though a whole lot more intense than Miles ever thought it would be. Which shouldn't have surprised him at all if he'd actually paid attention these past two years. He knew how Peter worked, knew that he went all in with everything he ever did.

"Hmm?" A sting of canines on his skin, a sharp breath.

"You don't have to hold back." He goes to grab Peter's hands, moves them up until they're caging him in again. "You can be rough if you want." He looks up at him, a wholly new expression on his face. It's one he's never seen before. His eyes so dark that Miles could see himself in them. "I can take it." He tries to sound grown up, to show Peter that he's serious about being with him but Peter just laughs, deep and warm against the side of his neck.

Somehow he feels like he's just said the wrong thing again.

"What is it with you and me being rough? Is it like a kink of yours or something?" He says jokingly.

Miles goes quiet as he looks up at him, his face burning as Peter grins up at him, prideful and way too cocky for his taste.

"I… yeah. God, yes."

"And you said I was the masochist," Peter says, his voice almost a growl, and just the tone of it sends shivers down Miles' spine.

He leans down— close, just enough until he's hovering above Peter's lips. They lock eyes then, the heat between them almost unbearable and Miles swears he's never wanted anything more.

"I'm not." He kisses along the edge of his mouth, tentative and soft as Peter stares. "Not if there's pleasure from it— not if it's you."

"I'll…" Peter's breathing hard, can feel his lip quivering under his own. "I'll keep that in mind then. But, not tonight." He lifts both of them up, Miles still on his lap and his legs held up only by Peter's arms as he lays him down on his back. "I'm not breaking you in just yet."

Miles doesn't even know what to say, can't talk as Peter pushes himself onto him, a flurry of kisses leaving his mouth just as his hand reaches to the hem of his boxers. He lets it rest there, equally shy as it is aggressive; places his fingers onto the dips of Miles' hips, his index rubbing over a vein, the other three pressing into his side. Miles knows he's taking it slow, doesn't want to rush in and freak him out, but it's so hard to wait when he's holding him like this. He can feel him, can certainly feel the beginning of _something else_ pressing into the inside of his thigh. So close that waiting just becomes this long torturous thing.

He tilts his neck back and Peter goes straight for it, hungry as he nips at his skin, teeth buried just beneath the surface. Miles waits until he's distracted enough to reach down, can barely think as he feels himself grab the knot of the towel and slowly unravel it, feels his hands shake just as he gets to the last of it and the ends fall down. Peter notices too late, can't stop it as Miles reaches underneath, stops right at the bottom of his abdomen and slides down, his fingers inches away from it. He keeps his hand there, too afraid to do anything else.

"Are you sure you're ready for that?" Another breathless whisper, a chuckle and then Peter's reaching for his hand in the middle, guides it gently back to the side and all Miles can think as he looks down is that _no_ , he definitely wasn't ready to deal with all _that_. Only realizes instead that he's way out of his element. But _damn_ if it wasn't pretty.

"Don't worry about me." Peter says, borderline comforting as his hand slinks back over Miles' stomach. He's barely touching him and yet it's all he can focus on, the only thing he can feel as his hand slips lower and lower until he's right back where he started. He's hesitating again, trying so desperately to hold everything back and Miles knows that now it's his turn to pull him back in.

"If you want it," He grabs Peter's hand, leads it himself to the hem until Peter's fingers are hooked on it. All he has to do is pull and both of them are freed. "Then take it." He lifts his hips, gives him one last chance to do it himself before he does it for him.

" _It's yours._ " 

He doesn't mean to say it but it comes out anyway, a small whine slipping out at the end but the edges are too hard; commanding, and Peter just stares again.

"You really shouldn't have said that."

Miles watches as he leans down, his eyes drawn up towards him the whole time as he kisses along his stomach and down his happy trail. He can see the pink of his lips even from over here, watches in amazement as Peter pulls his clothes clean off, quick hands sliding them off his legs before he tosses them.

"Better?" Miles nestles between his legs, Peter's body right above him, allows himself to touch him; reaches and finally pulls back the towel.

"Much."

It's strange looking at him like this. It was intimate, sure, but more than anything it was just weird.

He'd seen Peter change in front of him countless times, angled his eyes away and pretended he wasn't watching when he so obviously was; let curiosity take over as he tried cataloguing his body in his mind. Up until this moment he thought he was alone in that, that he was just another pervert crushing on some straight dude that would never want him back. But this is different. Peter isn't just a fantasy anymore, he's real and he likes him back— and god, he probably knows about all the times Miles has watched him behind his back.

About all the times Peter would say, "cover me," after patrol, stepped into an alcove and stripped in front of him before he changed into normal civilian clothing. About all the times they'd go out to eat and he'd look at him from over his menu, only stopping when Peter would offer him some of his food and feed it to him. Or when they'd swing back to Peter's place to shower and he'd just be chilling there, painfully naked with nothing but a sliver of a door between them. Peter stepping out of his room with only his pajama pants, makes them both snacks as Miles changes in his room.

He missed that the most. Now Peter was always busy. He never had time, barely talked to Miles unless they were on patrol, and even then he only talked to him about whatever other missions they had. It was never about how he was doing, and he never wanted to hear how Miles was anymore. It was just work, and work, and more _work._ He mentioned MJ of course, told him how she was doing even when he didn't ask. Rainchecked him countless times because they were meeting up later.

It drove Miles crazy, the jealousy gnawing at him till it turned into a big ugly monster. So angry that he'd ignore Peter's texts for hours before he finally got the courage to roll out of bed and meet up with him.

He never thought much about it until now; never occurred to him that Peter was just trying to keep him at arm's length for his own sake. That because he didn't want to hurt him later he was actively punishing him now.

He didn't know whether to feel honored that Peter cared about him that much, saw what was happening and tried to alleviate it, or pissed because he tried choosing for him— as if he knew what was best for him.

As if he could have possibly ever known what Miles wanted.

Peter looks down at him, his mouth a blazing pink, the middle of them almost red— swollen, and Miles wants to know how he tastes, wants to swipe his tongue over the roof of his mouth and pull him close, sink his nails into his back as he bites on his lip.

He trails his hands up his thighs, places them around Peter's hips nice and slow, watches as his stomach ripples as he breathes.

"You okay there?"

He shifts slightly, nervous as he says it.

"Yeah, I'm just…" he starts out on his face, can't help it as his gaze travels down and looks between Peter's legs. "…taking it all in."

Peter strokes his side way too rough then, his hand catching on the dips as he scoots back and angles himself in front of Miles. He's laying down but his back is arched, one elbow propping himself up, his other arm draped over Miles' thigh. Peter doesn't break eye contact as he goes to grab his dick, doesn't even realize how hard he is until his mouth is inches away and Miles swears it _twitches_ just from his touch alone. He flexes his fingers around it, rubs once and then again.

"Is this okay?" Peter is whispering but Miles can hear him loud and clear, his senses on fire as they come to focus on him.

 _'It's more than okay. It's fucking perfect,'_ he wants to say, a knot in his throat as Peter presses his face against it, doesn't trust himself to speak coherently as his mouth finally opens and his tongue trails over the side of it. It's hot, like an iron press slowly working its way up his skin, another lick and it feels like Miles is melting in his grasp. He wants to lean back, get lost in it; except that Peter is looking at him, green eyes fully on display, large and wanton, and he definitely can't miss _that_.

He brings his hands up to his face, places his knuckle against the edge of Peter's temple and caresses the skin there.

"You'll tell me if it's too much, right?"

"Like I said— I can take it." He slides his hand into Peter's hair, touches the strands by the nape of his neck one by one before he tangles his fingers into it. "Don't worry about me," he echoes back to him, just like before.

"You'll regret saying that."

"I doubt it."

"Oh, trust me, you will." A bite into the inside of his thigh— another lick and Miles sees stars. "Give it time. You'll get there."

" _Mmm—_ debatable."

"You can never be wrong can you? Just let me have this."

"I am."

Peter smiles then, a low chuckle coming from deep in his chest and Miles can feel the bed rumble slightly, feels his hands grip the back of thighs and pull. He can only watch as Peter takes him in then, lips bright red around him like poison fruit and Miles is getting drunk off him.

His hand goes stock-still in Peter's hair, can't even think as he goes all the way down on him. Miles is pretty sure he can feel the back of his throat, but it's his tongue that's really killing him. Peter trails it over the head, swirls, and then he's creating pressure, hollows his cheeks as he goes up. He does it again, slow and steady, his other hand coming to stroke at the bottom.

Miles tangles his hand into his hair, nails burying into his scalp and for just a split second he debates it, wants Peter to stop and look up at him; wants to see just how he takes it, all pretty and rosy. So he pulls, not hard enough to hurt him— never that, but just enough that Peter makes a noise, and just like that all his past fantasies are coming true. Peter stops, takes Miles' dick and holds it as he slides off. His lips pose over the side of him, glossy as they slide up and down, a trail of spit and his tongue is back on him.

" _Holy shit_ ," he says, his vision hazy as Peter looks up at him. His eyes are all teary, burning with desire and Miles gets that tingly feeling in his chest again— wants for nothing more than to have Peter claim him; to feel him deep inside him.

Peter trails up, drags his tongue all the way up his stomach until he's kissing on Miles' neck. His teeth catch on his skin, scratching against Miles' jaw and suddenly Peter is kissing him again, hard and wanting. Miles leans into him, thinks that this is what heaven must feel like as he tastes himself on Peter's lips.

He wants to touch him so damn bad; needs to taste him right this second or he'll explode.

"I want to touch you too," he says, a heady whisper against his lips.

"Then do it."

Miles reaches tentatively between Peter's legs, his hands shaking as he finally grabs onto his dick. It's _big_. Certainly bigger than Miles' own. How the hell was he supposed to handle this, again?

"Am I sensing some mild hesitation there?"

Miles gulps.

"You're, uh… bigger than I was expecting."

"Ha. Now you're just stroking my ego."

Miles _fucking_ giggles— catches Peter's joke right away.

"It's… a lot. But it's nice."

"Yeah? I can show you how to make it feel good."

"I have one too, Peter. It's not like it's rocket science."

"You'd think." He puts his hand over Miles', clamps down on it as he instructs him. "But it's different when you're doing it to someone else."

"Different how?"

He looks up. Peter is taller than him, almost towers over him from this angle, but he's not intimidating or anything. His body instead like a blanket over him, comforting and warm amidst everything else.

"More… intense," he says, a frown on his face. "More chance for error. I was never crazy about it— other stuff always felt better."

"Then teach me…" Miles nips at his jaw, feels Peter's hands come to his waist and grip him back. "Teach me how to make you feel good."

He doesn't know what he's doing, but that's never stopped him before. He usually works off instinct anyway; this time it's no different. Peter caresses him up his sides, his hands searingly hot and Miles has to shut off everything just so he's not overloaded with the sheer amount of _tenderness_ he feels. Everything Peter does feels so good and all he wants to do is return the favor.

Miles backs away, slinks down until his head is against the headboard.

"Uh, Miles, bud— what are you doing?"

"Stuff."

"Right. Of course." A fond smile, and he's rolling his eyes. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Maybe it's cause you're old. I'm pretty sure you're due for some bifocals soon."

"Am I being bullied right now? Is that what this is?"

"You need that little reality check every once in a while. I think…" Miles drags his hands over his calves, makes it a point to linger on every little spot and memorize it down to the last detail. He slides up into his thighs, squeezes and then pulls until Peter is kneeling over his face. He looks down at him from between his arms. Miles can see his shoulders ripple in the light, watches as the shadows sink into the dips of his body as he holds onto the headboard and arches over him. "…I could be it."

Miles is staring at him, quiet, his chest ripped open and his heart on a platter. He's offering it to him, all the way, no hesitation. Wants Peter to sink his teeth into it and call it his own.

"But, like… only if you want me to." He trails off. He feels like puking as he says it. It's too intimate, but he can't stop. Only watches as Peter's face goes all soft. "I can take care of you. Like you do me."

He doesn't regret it, even when he knows he sounds like a child, needy and desperate— wants something that he can't possibly have. After all he's never been in love; doesn't know what it could possibly feel like, but Peter is close enough that he can imagine what it'd be like. For once, love can be good.

For once it can be him.

"You already are."

"For real?" He angles Peter into his mouth, watches as his eyebrows knit together, a small, " _fuck,_ " muttered under his breath. He could get used to this view.

"For real." He runs his thumb over Miles' lip, stretches it open as he pushes in deeper. It opens his jaw just enough that he has to work to keep it open and Peter whines, shaky hands on his face, his hips moving on their own. Miles concentrates, doesn't want to choke on it this early on. So he lets go and lets Peter set the pace instead. He's still gentle, isn't just using Miles' mouth to get off as he rides his face. But he can tell he's barely holding it together now.

Peter feels foreign at first, doesn't taste like anything until he's properly wedged inside the back of his throat. It's slightly mellow, shifts, and then he tastes like the sweetest ocean. Miles scrunches up his face, fights off the feeling of wanting to choke and push him out the farther he goes in. It's slow, agonizing, and as he opens his eyes he finds Peter looking down at him. He feels important now. Like an idol; he's held together only by adoration.

He opens his mouth a bit wider, splays his tongue so Peter can rub against it. Miles can feel each stroke get more erratic, knows he's practically drooling on his dick. A short swipe and Peter's wiping his spit off his chin and back into his mouth. He goes slower then, his eyes glossed over as he watches himself pull out of Miles' mouth.

"Jesus, Miles, you look so fucking pretty." He holds it there, Miles' tongue sticks out— waits for him as Peter strokes his face. _Pretty_. That one he's never heard before. Sounds hotter than anything he could've possibly come up with in his head.

Peter reaches down, tilts his chin up as he places his dick back in his mouth. Miles' feels it twitch, his tongue vibrating slightly as it rests against the head of it. He narrows his eyes, lets Peter rut against him as he reaches up and pulls. Miles sinks his nails into the dimples of his back, grips the skin there and pushes in. He tries preparing for it, tries opening his jaw further to allow him back in but he gags anyway. Peter's breath hitches, his stomach contracting as Miles fights off every impulse in him to push back against it. He forces himself down; taking him in all the way. He angles his face, looks up at Peter and moves his hips in again, forward then back. He's setting a new rhythm; one Peter picks up straight away.

He flutters his eyes and Peter practically sobs, a short growl coming out at the end. He looms over him, one hand gripping the headboard, the other on Miles' jaw. He's going a little faster, then _a lot faster_ , bucks his hips against Miles' mouth until he's pushed to the hilt. He can feel his throat fighting back but he doesn't want to stop. Peter tastes like heaven, can feel his tears mixing in with his spit as he fucks his face. He's barely breathing, doesn't see anything else except Peter's chest over him, so lost in it that he barely registers the sensation of frenzied fingers pushing at his face.

"Miles— I think you should—" he can barely get it out, can't even think straight as he keeps moving. Miles doesn't even think he could stop it if he wanted to. Peter's hips move on their own now, intense, and then sloppy against him. "I'm gonna—"

Peter tries pulling away, his hand raised on Miles' head. He doesn't let him, pushes him in farther instead until he's looking up at him, tears and all, with a mouthful of him. Peter stops, shuts his eyes. He's _shaking_ , Miles realizes, as he feels him cum inside his mouth.

They stay still then, Peter caressing his face, Miles' hands poised over his hips. He can't stop trembling, even when he pulls back and slides out of his mouth. He looks drunk, stumbles, and Miles catches him.

"Peter, man… you alright?" Peter clings to him, his chest resting against Miles' face. Miles holds him, rubs his sides until he comes to.

"Yeah… yeah. Just s'fucking good." He slurs, dips down to kiss him. Miles cranes his neck back, lets Peter push his tongue slowly into his mouth and taste him. It's lazy, almost instinctual, to Miles' surprise. "I didn't think you'd…"

"Swallow?" He breathes against his lips. Peter kisses him again, harder this time. "I wanted to."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

"I'm sorry…" he notices his chest flare up, the red rising up into his face. "I didn't mean to lose control."

"Nah. I wanted you to. You looked crazy good on top."

Peter huffs against him, then smiles.

"Not better than you. You'd take it so well." He doesn't mean to say it like that but Miles can't get the image out of his mind. He pushes on Peter's chest, coaxes him backwards gently until he's laying on the mattress. "Miles… what are you doing?"

He lets him touch him, Peter's voice weak underneath him.

"Getting on top." He grinds his hips slightly against him. Peter shuts his eyes again, breathes hard then clamps his hands over his hips to stop him.

"Not tonight. We've done enough."

"I thought you wanted to." He grabs Peter's hand and drags it over his stomach. "I want to."

"You're not—"

"Don't say it. You _know_ I can take it."

"Miles. **No**."

"It's you who's not ready."

"That's not… I'm not saying that." He sighs.

Miles feels the anger from the past few months hit him all at once. Can't control himself as he lets it slip.

"You'd fuck MJ."

_Shit._

_Double fucking shit._

"Don't." A warning. "Just _don't_. Please, don't go there."

"Why not? It's the truth. If she was here—" he grabs Peter's dick, jerks him off till he's semi hard again. "—on top of you like this, you'd already be fucking her."

"Miles, _stop_." He sounds pained, a broken whine slipping from his lips.

"Do you wish I was her instead?"

"I never said—"

"Would you give it to me then?" He places his fingers over the head, rubs the precum there until he's all slippery again.

"You're being unreasonably mean right now."

"No— you. If you're gonna be this annoyingly pragmatic at least look at me when you do it." He rubs his thumb over the side of Peter's dick, can feel the vein there pulse under his touch. "Peter, look at me."

He tries again.

" _Mírame_."

His eyes flutter open. He's looking up at Miles all sappy— guilty and then he's arching into him.

"You can have it." He leans down, kisses him, and Peter moans into his mouth. "I want you…" he hesitates again, doesn't touch him back until Miles bucks into him. "I think I want you inside me."

"Jesus, Miles…"

"I… love you— _I've always loved you_." Miles corrects himself. He feels Peter's arm circle his waist. "I need to know… if you love me too."

"I do." He says quickly, hazy against Miles' lips.

"Say it."

"I love you, Miles." He repeats.

He's breathing quicker now, almost feral as he rakes his nails over Peter's chest.

"Then show me."

He nods finally.

"Yeah. Okay." Peter sits up, pries Miles off him. "Uh— stay here. I gotta go get something."

Miles wants to protest, misses his body heat already.

"Why?"

"I can't go in dry. It's gonna hurt like crazy."

" _Oh_."

"Trust me. It isn't fun."

Miles can't keep the surprise off his face. He can't imagine Peter actually taking it. Maybe when he was younger, sure, but now? He sees him too much like the dominant one, almost like a caretaker… which sounds kind of wrong if he thinks about it too long. But he was way over his head here, who's to say it was even about that? Sometimes you just wanted to feel good, no matter the position. Peter was human underneath after all.

He closes his eyes, imagines a strobe light over Peter's face. He's at a party at college, obviously drunk, in a room. There's someone over him, but not like Miles. Instead he's bigger than Peter himself. Maybe a bit older. Peter's eyes are screwed shut, his legs over someone's shoulders. Miles wants to touch himself to it, imagines himself briefly in that other dude's place. The selfish part of him recoils in disgust, feels jealous just even thinking about it. He wants Peter to make those sounds only for him, not someone else.

"Someone's having happy thoughts." He hears Peter's voice from right above him. He's standing in front of the bed, waving a clear bottle in his hands.

"Is that it?"

"Yup."

"Don't take this the wrong way but, why do you have this? I thought you were, you _know_ …"

"Straight?"

"Yeah."

He stops, juggles the bottle around, unsure how to answer.

"Do you remember when we first started training? What one of the first things I taught you was?"

"You mean besides throwing a mean left hook? I wanna say it's that whole sermon you gave me about enemy points of weakness."

"Close."

"Really?"

"No," he says dryly, but there's still humor in it. "I taught you to subvert your expectations. To look at something and analyze it, but to leave yourself open for surprises in case shit hits the fan."

"Which it always does."

"Right— and now I need you to apply that same logic to every person you know in your life. None of us are ever what we seem, Miles. I might've never said I was, but I never said I wasn't either."

"So, what, all that just to say you like both?"

"I guess." He shrugs. "I never really thought much about it. I just… did what I wanted, when I wanted."

"So, what does that mean… for us?"

"Us?" He places his knee on the bed then, crawls over Miles until they're inches away. Peter smiles, admits to himself that maybe he does like the way it comes out of Miles' mouth. "You really want to lock it down this early? We haven't even had our first date."

"We've gone on plenty of dates."

"So, you did notice."

"Not until tonight, I didn't. You were sneaky with it." He stops, mutters under his breath. " _Cabrón_."

"I wasn't trying to be subtle, exactly?" Miles flicks the side of his face, electricity dancing off his fingertips. " _Ow—_ not my fault you didn't pick up on the hints."

"Because obsessively talking about your ex counts as shooting your shot." Miles doesn't mean to sound so harsh, knows that he's being too transparent with how he feels.

Just imagining her, laying where he's laying right now, Peter touching up on her just like he is now… it awakens something else entirely. The jealousy ripping through him the longer he thinks about it.

"Okay, I deserved that." A small smile and Miles stares, wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him. It's just a kiss, slow and lazy, just like before, just like they've kissed the past twenty or something times. Except it's not. Peter's still gripping the bottle as he hooks his arms underneath his legs, a grunt and then he's picking him up. It's effortless, swift as he lays him back against the headboard.

"I can think of a couple of other things you deserve." Miles doesn't know why he's saying it, what prompted him to even talk like _that_ in the first place. He thinks it's the hormones raging through him, what with the whole mutation and his natural growth spurt, it's like his body's always on overdrive. Peter certainly doesn't help with that. His presence makes everything both excruciating and euphoric at any given moment. "But first: make it up to me."

Peter laughs. He looks youthful again. Less tired, more alive. But Miles loves his eyes the most. They're expressive, soft as they look at him; and completely smitten. He wants to imagine that it's because of him. That he does to Peter what Peter does for him. It's electric— instantaneous.

"Oh, believe me— I definitely plan to."

"Good." He strokes his face, and Peter kisses the inside of his palm; practically nuzzles his face into it.

"So… how do you want me?" It's low, Peter's chest rumbling behind him when he talks. Miles holds his breath, lets him lift his leg up and push his own knee between them to keep it in place. He feels the tickling sensation of his lips against the back of his ear. A shudder as he kisses along his neckline.

"Like this?" Peter's hand trails between his thighs, feels his hands hover over his ass.

"No." He barely gets out. "I wanna see you."

Peter stills behind him before he pulls away. A short while later and he's kneeling in front of him. He looks at him for a moment, overwhelmingly intense as he reaches for the bottle and drenches his fingers in it.

"It's gonna hurt for a little bit, and it's gonna feel weird for even longer, just…focus on me, okay?"

Miles nods, steels himself for it the closer his hands get. But Peter doesn't go for it straight away, instead he comes to his dick, pours some more over it before he rubs it in. The lube feels colder than his mouth, certainly less pleasant than Peter could ever feel on his own. It's slow, deliberate in its intent. Each touch is so _much_ , and Peter is so careful that it almost hurts just as much as it would've without all the prep. Miles tries to be quiet as he works on him, keeps his eyes on him at all times so he doesn't miss anything important— a hiss coming out of his mouth when Peter gets a little too rough. But it's a good kind. The one where every little shock of discomfort or pain is immediately followed by something that feels infinitely better. He knows it's only sore because he's been hard for so long anyway; that Peter is just trying to make him feel better the only way he knows how.

"You know you can be loud if you want," Peter says, eyes zeroed in on his face. His voice is so deep now that Miles has a hard time even focusing on that. His hand feels so good, and suddenly he's kissing between his thighs, bites down at the top before he licks the wound clean.

He waits until Miles shuts his eyes, kisses the inside one more time before he decides he's ready. He wants to relax so badly, but his spine contracts as soon as he feels Peter. His hips still, a groan spilling from his lips as Peter pushes in slowly.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you too much, okay?"

Miles nods, focuses only on Peter's eyes. The way they look at him, how the green in them shine under the warm light from the lamp across the room. He doesn't think he'll ever see any as pretty as Peter's. Not in this lifetime anyway.

" _Talk_. Tell me how you're feeling."

"It hurts." He's gasping, clenching around Peter as he angles his hips away.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's worth it, right? For you." Peter's gaze gets darker, almost primal. Miles' skin breaking out in goosebumps the longer he's subjected to it.

"Not for me. Never for me." He pushes in deeper, watches fixedly as Miles scrunches his face up in pain, then a slight break as he angles his fingers up, tugs and then he's pressing against something _else_. "It's only worth it when I can make you do _this_."

He moves it back, then presses his finger against his prostate again. Miles shivers, his lips trembling as Peter repeats the motion over and over.

"See, like that. Prettiest thing in the world," he says praisingly. Miles takes it, feels his face heat up even more at the compliment. His hand moves faster over his dick then, his fingers pressing against the head then down into the base, skin slick with sweat as Peter pushes another finger in. Miles whimpers, bites down on his lip as he works it in. It feels overwhelming, and even worse than the first one initially; but Peter is so gentle and patient with him as he does it that Miles can push the pain aside long enough until it eventually subsides.

"How does it feel now?" He asks gently, both fingers working him in much the same way.

"Still hurts," he gets out through clenched teeth. "But not as bad. It's starting to feel kinda okay— That's good right?"

Peter's eyes light up, equally as excited as Miles'.

"Very good."

"It means I'll be able to take you in real soon, then." He can't keep the eagerness out of his voice, in the same vein that Peter can't wait to properly be inside him. Even from here he can see that Peter is fully hard again, that it's sitting ready and waiting for him.

"I don't think you know what you do to me when you say things like that."

Miles moves his hips, bucks back onto his fingers— keeps looking at him the whole time as he does it.

"Nope. Absolutely no idea. Not the slightest clue."

"You're terrible. I feel like I've created a monster."

"And what about it?" Miles gets out through labored breaths. "Thought you wanted me like this. _Casi viniendo solo por tus dedos."_

Peter doesn't know what he's saying, only knows that it's dirty if it has Miles looking like that.

"You're going to be the death of me."

"Only if you're mine first." He makes a motion to sit up, but Peter beats him to it, meets him halfway and kisses him. It's a little more needy than the previous ones. His tongue presses into his mouth, slow, tasting him with each lick against Miles' own. He lets himself get lost in Peter, focuses on the way it feels to be kissed like this, all passionate and uninhibited, his touch lovely as sin.

His hand picks up the pace, practically vibrating between his legs as he kisses him. Miles wants to cry, is tearing up already just from this alone, his sounds only muffled by Peter's own lips.

"Ready?" He asks suddenly.

He stops jerking Miles off, but his fingers don't stop. It's only when he looks down that he notices that Peter added another one, his whole hand now almost inside him.

He nods, can't talk as Peter kisses along his neck.

"I want to hear you say it."

"I want you in me." Miles whispers through tears. " _Please_."

Peter stops, looks at him with what can only be described as pure lust, eyes blown wide as he pushes him back down onto the pillows. He misses him immediately, only sighs in relief when Peter slots between his legs.

Miles watches as he gets closer, looks on through hooded lids as Peter grabs his left leg and holds it under his arm as he positions himself. His chest blooms, almost in pride as he watches his body move on top of him. Peter was at his peak. His body looking almost unreal the longer he pays attention to it.

"You'll tell me if I'm hurting you, right?" He's breathing hard, barely contained and Miles wants to grab him by the face and tell him to get on with it already. Wants Peter to bury himself so deep inside him that he's the only thing he feels for weeks.

"Peter, man, I know I already said it but— I can take it." He lifts his hips, angles them so Peter can see better. "Stop with all this mushy shit and give it to me already."

He hesitates for only a second before he's back on Miles, leans forward until his hips connect with his ass. Miles feels a brush between them, watches as Peter grabs his dick and aligns it in front of him. It's pink, basically dripping as he pushes in. He wants to shut his eyes, but instead only watches in fascination as Peter whimpers above him. His face is pained but in a good way, almost euphoric as he feels Miles around him for the first time.

He gets about halfway before the pain starts setting in again. Miles hisses, lifts his hips up to stop it and Peter stills.

"Fuck— I'm sorry."

"No, no, you're good. Just…keep going. I'll get used to it."

"Are you sure? I really don't want to—"

Miles doesn't mean to snap, but he's so fucking horny that he's about _this_ close to losing it if Peter tries to tell him some more bullshit.

"Peter, I love you… I really do. But I need you to just shut up and fuck me already."

He can't talk anymore, only thinks of Peter really breaking him in, all rough and messy inside him.

"Please," he turns it into a whine, can't stop it as it slips from the back of his throat all needy. Peter watches, licks his lips before he starts again.

" _Jesus_. You're bratty."

He holds his leg up, shushes him as he pushes in.

"Just a little more."

Miles wants to keep quiet, wants to keep his cool as Peter buries himself inside his body, but he can't. A small hiccup leaves his mouth just as he's done, his abdomen pressed right to him and he feels too full.

He lets his head fall back, needs time to get used to how Peter feels.

"Miles… you okay?" Peter says, but he sounds all wrong. Like he's barely there and someone else is in control. Miles tries to ignore the way his body practically purrs at it, how it wants Peter even when it's this close to breaking him.

"Mmm, yeah. I'm all good. You're just… _big—_ Like, _really_ big." He grimaces, holds his breath so he doesn't push it in any more.

Peter bends down— kisses him until he sees stars behind his eyelids.

"Don't worry. It'll feel better soon." He pulls out slowly, watches as Miles' legs shake as he does it. They're smooth, longer than Peter remembers them since the last time they hung out. Miles was definitely growing up, but Peter never expected him to be like this. He was getting stronger every day. He feels like one day he'll just look up and Miles will be all grown up, practically standing over Peter and suddenly he won't want him anymore. Miles will grow up and realize that there are other things more important than whatever the hell Peter had going on and leave him.

The thought terrifies him. Somehow even more than he previously thought— didn't realize how much Miles meant to him until he's under him like this.

He breathes out slowly, tries not to lose it with the way Miles' scent is going crazy around him. It's sweet, inviting and all Peter wants to do is give in to it. Everybody had a smell— he knew that much, but Miles was different. It was like the spider mutagen worked differently between similar subjects. With MJ he could smell her but only in the literal physical sense, if he was standing close by or if she was wearing something strong. It was normal. With Miles it was completely different. His scents could only work one of two ways, either as a means of communication or as a result of involuntary pheromone secretion. Peter couldn't figure it out. Didn't understand why he was suddenly sweating and his Spidey senses going crazy every time he came around until one day when it just _clicked._

Miles was reacting to Peter's own scent, almost subconsciously, to the point where he was mimicking his own right back at him. Peter could see it in his mind, it glared at him in bright neon at the beginning, a warning of sorts, tempting but ultimately fatal if he acted on it. But that was before it started changing. It was subtle. Miles would no longer be mimicking Peter's own scent, but instead creating a whole new one. It developed slowly, a more masculine scent shifting into sweeter notes until it was practically assaulting him, like ripened fruit ready for the picking.

Miles looks up at him, digs his nails into his forearms as Peter pushes back in. He tries to hold back from slamming into him, doesn't want to hurt him anymore than he already is, but then Miles arches, lifts his hips to meet him halfway and Peter does it anyway. Miles holds back a scream, a tear running down his face as he grips the sheets underneath him.

He freaks out, feels all gross inside until Miles grinds back against his dick. Realizes instead that he isn't crying in pain, but in pleasure.

"I'm guessing it feels good now?" He pulls back, slams into Miles again, and his eyes screw shut. His chest is glistening with sweat now, and all Peter wants to do is lick it off.

"You have no idea." He's shuddering, barely able to talk as Peter fucks him. He smirks, angles his hips back and pulls Miles' leg higher until it's on his shoulder. He doesn't move, only hovers over him.

"Peter… what are you doing?"

"Making you work for it."

"Peter, _no_ ," he sounds like he's crying, wants him back right this second or he'll surely lose it. "You can't do this to me. Come on, man." He shifts down a little bit, lifts his hips so Peter can slip in again but he just stares at him.

He leans forward, lifts his dick and Miles wants for nothing else except him. "Show me how good you feel," Miles whispers.

He pushes in slowly, takes his time as he buries himself back into him.

Miles lets out a cry, his voice almost cracking as he goes all the way to the hilt. Peter watches him, notices only him in that moment, open and wanting as he takes it.

Miles' vision swims, can't take much else as Peter touches up deep inside him— hits places that he didn't even think existed. It hurts so good, a sharp pain as he pulls out then pushes back in. It's driving him crazy, knows Peter is being purposely this rough because he wants to see him lose the little control he has left.

" _Puñeta—_ " his voice is high, cracks only when Peter pushes in too deep. He squeals, his hips shooting all the way up in surprise. Peter doesn't let up, instead holds his hips down so he can't escape.

"Come on, baby, I thought you said you could take it." Miles doesn't even know what the hell to even grab on to anymore, can only lay there as Peter tears him apart. His face burns at the name, feels something deep in him shift as Peter croons into his ear. "You look so pretty when you take it."

He's never heard Peter sound like this before. He isn't like he usually is. His edges are too sharp now, borderline dangerous and Miles can't keep up anymore.

"Peter— _please—_ " he's crying, practically holding on for dear life.

Peter's not worried about being gentle anymore, only goes harder against him until his legs are shaking. Miles can't even keep quiet, feels slightly guilty as the bed creaks in the empty space, almost as loud as him; echoes to the point where he knows Peter's neighbors can probably hear them and then some.

Miles wonders momentarily if this is how Peter fucked MJ. Did he feel better than her? Did Peter love fucking him more than he did her?

He dips down, bites along his neck as he moves. His hips are sliding against Miles' fast; slippery, their skin and moans the only sound ringing out throughout the apartment.

Miles stops, his spine seizing as the beginning of an orgasm starts to take over. He tries to stay still, shuts his legs as much as he can as it washes over him. Peter reaches between them, jacks him off through it until he's cumming all over his hand. Peter stares, looks down and Miles can see through hazy eyes as he brings his hand up to his mouth to lick. He opens, still riding the high as Peter shoves his index over his tongue, pushes until Miles is gagging on them, sweat and tears mixing in with the way his own cum tastes.

Peter tilts his hips up with his other arm, lifts until Miles' lower half is facing up at him. It's all rough from there— at least rougher than it was previously. Peter shifts back, repositions himself so he's draped over him, Miles' legs under his arms again. Miles can't do anything except watch, holds his breath as he slams into him again and again _and again._

"I'm gonna pull out, okay?" Peter gasps, eyes screwing shut as he fucks him.

"No, no, no, Peter— look at me," he doesn't know what he's trying to say, but Peter catches on anyway.

"You want it inside…"

" _Yes_."

"Yeah, okay. I should've figured—"

"Peter, shut up. And just—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Miles feels his eyes start rolling back, can't control it as another wave ripples through him. "Ssh, it's okay. I've got you— I'll take care of you."

His hips jerk once, lock into place inside Miles. Peter holds it, feels his body shudder as he cums. Then he's on top of Miles. Peter's kissing him slowly, his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his hips moving weakly back and forth, just riding it out until he's done all the way inside him.

It feels weird, but strangely wholesome. Peter's hand is on the back of his neck, holds him up gently as he finishes kissing him. Miles doesn't want it to stop but his body is on fire, every nerve is tingling, sore and used up.

"You okay?" Peter mutters. It's bashful again.

"I…can't even form a thought right now."

Peter scoffs from on top of him.

"You formed a sentence— you can form another one. I believe in you."

Miles reaches for his face, holds it there as Peter lays it over his chest. His hair is all wet, sweaty at the roots. Miles digs his fingers into it, massages the area there as Peter hums, his voice quiet inside the apartment.

Miles pauses, thinks over what he wants to say, but ultimately comes back to one thing. He cradles Peter, presses his face gently against him as he runs his fingers down his jaw and over his shoulders.

"I love you," He says finally. "I love you so much."

Peter sighs, only nestles his face into him.

"Mmm… I love you too, Miles." He makes a move to look up at him, their eyes locking only for Miles to focus on something else entirely.

"Wait. Where'd I put my phone?"

"It should be in the bag, why?" Peter mumbles.

"Peter… what time is it?" Miles says, panic taking over.

"I don't know… Like four a.m? I kind of lost track of time."

"Shit, shit, shit." He makes a move to get up, doesn't want Peter to leave him as he tries to sit up and lean over the bed.

"Stop. I got it." He grunts, extends his arm until he reaches underneath. Peter pulls at his backpack, gives a sharp tug until it's right by them. "Inside pocket, right?"

Miles nods.

He fiddles around for a little bit before he finds it and hands it to him.

" _Shit._ Ten missed calls from my mom."

"Did she not know you were coming over?" Peter looks up at him, judging.

"No. I told her I was gonna go to Ganke's for a bit after patrol. But stuff happened. Ended up here and then… you know."

"Miles…"

"I wanted to see you," He finishes quickly. "Don't be mad. I'll just call her back real quick— let her know I'm staying over."

"Right. Cause that's definitely not suspicious."

"I've done it before, dude. Relax."

"She's gonna know."

Miles makes a face.

"You're paranoid." He strokes the nape of his neck, gentle fingers comforting against his skin. "Like damn, is the oxytocin already wearing off? You need a round two?"

"I hate you." Peter breathes in, smiles and Miles can't do anything except mirror him.

"Just lay there and look pretty while I do this. It'll be quick, okay?"

Peter doesn't respond, merely snuggles back against him while he calls her up. It rings a couple of times, goes straight to voicemail twice before she actually picks up.

"¿Nene, ay, dios mío, dónde estás? Te llamé como veinte mil de veces! Me puede dar un ataque y tú no contestas. Do you have any idea what time it is? Y todavía no estás en la casa!" She's loud, can't keep the worry out of her voice as she talks. Miles pulls the phone back, watches as Peter laughs underneath him. "¿Estás bien, verdad? No estás lastimado…"

"Estaba un poco." He lets his hand rub up and down Peter's back, looks on in fascination as the muscle there ripples under his touch. "But I'm fine! I… came to Peter's. He patched me up. You don't have to worry, Mami."

"I should've known. I called Ganke and he didn't know where you were. How many times do I have to tell you—"

"To call me if you're not coming home."

" _To call you if I'm not coming home,_ " He echoes her, finishes at exactly the same time and she sighs. "I know. I'm sorry. We just lost track of time. I promise I'll do better next time."

"When are you coming home? I need to know if I should leave the front unlocked." She pauses, Miles feels the silence stretch out, looks to Peter for reassurance only to have him shrug it off.

"I'm not. I'm gonna stay over here… tonight." He trails off awkwardly, doesn't know how to not make it sound suspect. "I'll see you later on tomorrow."

"Are you sure, mijo? I don't want you to stay up too late."

Peter smirks and Miles flips him off.

"I'll be fine, Ma. I'll see you soon, okay? Probably in the afternoon. Pete and I got some… _spidey stuff_ to take care of."

"Alright. Te quiero. Dile hola a Peter para mí— dile que se cuide. Te veo mañana, mijo."

"I will. Bye, Mami. Te quiero."

"Alright. Goodnight. Please don't stay up too late, Miles. Entonces nunca te levantas."

"Yeah, yeah, I won't. I got it, Mom. I'll see you later. Bye."

"Bye. I love you."

"Love you too." He lets her hang up first, tucks the phone under one of Peter's pillows before he focuses all his attention back to him.

"That was adorable."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious." He kisses along his stomach. "It's sweet how you treat your mom."

"Do other people not say I love you to their parents?"

"Less than you think."

Miles gets that little firework feeling in his chest again, can't help the sudden adoration he feels for him.

"You know how it is. Gotta tell them while they're still here."

"Yeah, you do." Peter turns his face away, tucks it into the dip by Miles' hip and elbow.

"I know I already said it, and I keep saying it, but I don't think I'll ever get tired of saying it to you." He dips down, places a kiss on his head. "I love you, Peter. So _so_ much. It's insane."

He feels his breath quicken, soft against the top of his thigh. Peter feels guilt, knows he just deflowered someone's baby, but he can't help feeling the same. He loved Miles. Maybe more than he should've.

"I love you, too. Always have."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Peter yawns, nuzzles against him even more.

"Hey, Pete, I've been meaning to ask you something…"

"Should I be worried?"

"No?" A pause. "Yes? I don't know."

"Just tell me, Miles." His hands start stroking up his legs, nice and warm and it takes everything in him to think back and concentrate on what he was about to say.

"I want you to come back home with me…" he says it slow, too soft and Peter looks up immediately. Miles starts again, feels the knot come creeping back up his throat. "I want you to come back home— _with me_ , for Thanksgiving break. Meet my family and stuff… But only if you want to. I'm not gonna pressure you or anything— I was gonna ask you anyway, even before tonight, even though it's months away. But you know, this happened…and I didn't know how to bring it up. No pressure though, like I said. I just… I didn't want you to be alone." He knows he's rambling but he can't stop. Peter blinks, completely silent on top of him.

"What would we even say?" He mutters finally— apprehensive. "Our situation isn't exactly ideal…"

"I don't have to tell them we're… _a thing._ We can just pretend we're friends."

"And have you lie and tiptoe around your family the whole trip? I'm not gonna do that to you. It's supposed to be a holiday. If I go, you're just gonna be worrying the whole time."

"I'd worry more if you weren't there." He caresses the side of his face. He feels it again on his tongue, the want to tell him again how much he loves him; needs Peter there or it won't be worth it. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you along. It's only for Thanksgiving anyway. You and I will stay here— keep the city safe for the next couple of days before we meet my mom down in Kensington. You can stay with me at the apartment," he says, a slight tilt in his voice and Peter knows exactly what he means by it.

"I don't know, Miles."

"Come on, Peter. I'll even cook for you. My mom bought empanadillas and everything."

"Stop tempting me with food. You know I'm incapable of saying no."

Miles feels his eyebrow twitch.

"Dude, I'm not trying to put you on the spot, but you gotta stop being afraid of what other people are gonna say."

"I didn't—" he starts, then gives up halfway. "Stop perceiving me. It's creepy."

"I'm not 'perceiving' you. Your face gave you away." He tilts his face up, angles down until he's kissing him again. Peter stops, hesitates slightly before he kisses him right back. "They'll love you. I know it."

"Right. Because I'm such a model boyfriend."

"You could be. But you gotta give yourself a chance first." Another kiss and Peter's leaning up. "Come with me. We don't have to tell them right away. It can just be us for a little bit."

Peter kneels, he's towering over him now, all heady and in his space.

"Do you want me to be?"

"Do you even have to ask?" He's reaching, pulling Miles right back into him.

"No. But I want to hear it anyway."

"Then, yes. I want you to be mine… _and_ I want you to come home with me for the holidays."

Peter nips at his jaw, all teeth and Miles feels his pulse start to pick up again.

"Okay... I'll come. But just for you."

Miles has never been happier, can't contain it as he wraps his arms around him.

"That's all I ask for."

Peter nods, hooks his arms under his legs and lifts him up. Miles is weightless, hanging off his arms as Peter steps off the bed.

"You know, I think we're due for a shower."

Miles leans in, lets himself be kissed as Peter carries him off to the bathroom. They don't talk, instead let their bodies convey everything they can't say just yet. Miles doesn't care. He can wait, doesn't need everything right at this moment except Peter, anyway.

All he needs is right here.

The twinkling lights shine through the windows, illuminating both their bodies and for a moment everything is so simple. Maybe later, when it's all over, it can be just that. Just Miles in a city he loves, a city he's forever indebted to but who no longer needed him, living the life he always wanted.

He closes his eyes, imagines it before him.

He's home alone, reading a book in the city he loves, in an apartment that he loves, waiting on the man he loves to come home; and for once, it's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot and it just...did not turn out that way. So the next part will just be wholesome holiday goodness with the fam.
> 
> The translations are as follows:
> 
> 1\. Mírame - Look at me  
> 2\. 2. Cabrón - Dick/Bastard/Fucker  
> 3\. 3. Casi viniendo solo por tus dedos - Almost cumming just from your fingers alone.  
> 4\. 4. Puñeta - Fuck/Literal translation is to jack off but we use it as a curse.  
> 5\. 5. Rio's paragraph: "Oh my God, where are you, boy? I called like you like twenty thousand times. I could have a heart attack, and you still won't pick up. Do you have any idea what time it is and you're still not home! You okay? You're not hurt, right?"  
> If you guys wanna talk, I'm on tumblr under "tomlinzou"!!!!!
> 
> Also, there's a playlist. Follow it!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5QAWNw4sbyGi29McWIDmcW?si=EN31M2a1SLu5j1W0Zr_eeQ


	2. The Day That Wasn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT EDIT: If you're re-reading this a major plot point has changed! I replayed the game today and realized that Peter has already met and cured Dr. Connors. For that reason the whole MJ segment has been substituted for another villain, which in my opinion, fits way better into the story anyway!!!!
> 
> Y'all........it's been a while hasn't it?
> 
> A lot has been going on personally for me, and add to it that I'm an extremely slow writer with imposter syndrome and this whole chapter almost didn't get done and instead scrapped.
> 
> This was originally going to be a two part series, all fluff.....and it just.....did not want to do that and it instead turned into a completely new monster. This thing has PARTS (idk how many yet, but I will finish this fic), and there will now be angst as well, so YAY.
> 
> Idk if you could tell, but I've never really written a long fic, especially one that's starting to get this convoluted since now there will also be PLOT. That being said this chapter truly is demonic and entirely way too horny. Also dialogue heavy and drawn out. But I assume that's what you all came here for anyway. Next couple of chapters will try to rein everything in and add more plot points and conflict (with ADDITIONAL horniness).
> 
> As stated in the previous chapter, this was written with the old face model in mind, because fuck the new one I hate it so much. But you are free to imagine whichever face you prefer!!!!!
> 
> Also, Mari, my absolute angel, my other half of my smutty degenerate coin (you're the pure fluffy side), thanks for always pushing me to finish!!!! You're my biggest inspiration to finish this monster. Also, Brittney......the horniness is for you. This is our crack ship now. (Why am I writing author's notes like this is a damn book, smh).

He wakes up to the smell of breakfast wafting over his nose. Doesn't realize that he's the only one in the bed until Peter is standing over him with a plate. He looks up, brings his hand over his eyes as the sun glares at him.

"Ugh… what time is it?"

Peter doesn't lean down, instead pulls the shade higher until Miles is covered in light. He groans again, turns over until he's on Peter's side, safely tucked away under the comforter and his face pressed against his pillow. It smells like him— like the both of them now, and Miles' stomach flutters.

"Take a guess, sleeping beauty." He can't see his face, knows only that Peter's smiling just by his voice.

He doesn't respond, instead chucks a pillow at Peter's head.

"It's time for you to fuck off," he groans, curls into himself as Peter laughs.

"Come on, _baby,_ don't be like that," he makes his voice all sultry, accentuates the pet name even more and Miles flushes. Peter shifts. He's sitting on the bed, inches away from him and all he can think is that, yes, it's definitely way too early for _that_.

"I should've never told you."

"Told me what?" He looks to the side, notices the smirk on his face. "I'm just being friendly, bud."

"I hate you."

Peter smiles, leans in for a kiss and for a moment Miles wants to leave him hanging there, give him a taste of his own medicine— get up and put all his clothes on and go home. But he's looking at him, sweet but still charged up from last night, and Miles just _can't_.

He meets him in the middle, soft, a gentle press that turns slightly too turned on the longer Miles keeps it. He backs up, watches as Peter gets that same look on his face from last night, hands him the plate and suddenly he's standing back up again, the moment now gone.

"You're not gonna sit and eat with me?" Miles tries not to sound offended, but even at arm's length he misses Peter already.

"I… I already ate."

"What? When?"

He pauses, scrunches up his face. Peter brings his hands up to his nose, pushes in the bone there as if trying to get rid of some unseen pressure.

"Earlier. I let you sleep for a little bit while I, uh, tidied up."

He's shifting slightly, nervous as he messes with his hands, completely unwilling to meet his eyes for more than a couple of seconds. He bends down, cleans up Miles' suit and clothes off the floor, but it's robotic, his movements looking almost rehearsed.

"Pete… what's going on, man? You're being weird."

"Me? Weird? Never—" The sound of his voice alone sets off all the alarms inside his head, each syllable that slips out of Peter's mouth checking off one more box of crazy on his: ' _So, you're about to have a complete nervous breakdown!'_ list. "I'm just a normal guy, cleaning up his apartment after sleeping with his teenage protégé. Nothing strange there! _Totally_ normal— arguably one of the best moments of my adult life— top ten for sure. Just some truly extraordinary decision making on my part. Definitely not going to jail," he's rambling manically to himself, sighs as he picks up whatever else is left in the room.

_Oh._

_He's officially losing it._

Miles tries not to laugh, knows there's nothing funny about Peter's apparent crisis or his upcoming mental breakdown.

Definitely not.

He leans back, eats his eggs as he watches Peter work. He doesn't say much, just takes him all in, admires the way his shoulders move as he cleans around the apartment, especially his back. He can see it ripple through his shirt, the muscles tensing up as he lifts the couch and vacuums underneath it.

Miles bites into the toast, looks on as Peter starts to sweat, his hair turning into a dark brown by his hairline, his mind now working completely in full freak out mode.

"You know," he talks, loud enough so Peter can hear him across the apartment. "you wouldn't be this hot if you just took off your shirt." It's sarcastic, a slight tease in his voice that goes wholly unappreciated by Peter. Does exactly the opposite really.

Peter grunts, tries his best to ignore him.

Miles puts down the food, walks to the doorway until he's looking directly at him. Peter doesn't stop, just keeps vacuuming obnoxiously the longer he stands there.

"Pete… do you want to talk about it?" He crosses his arms, tries his best to make himself look as small and non threatening as possible so he doesn't scare Peter off.

"No." He doesn't look at him, but he does shut off the vacuum, wraps it up before he's walking back to him. Miles notices his face, takes in the way it's all hard and closed off, as if he's shielding himself from something else entirely.

As if it's Miles that he's hiding from.

He reaches for him, cradles his face as he gets on his tip toes and kisses him. Peter is rock solid, incredibly still as he stands there, unwilling to reciprocate even the simplest touch.

"It's obviously bothering you. Just talk to me, man." He kisses his cheek then, lets it linger there as Peter places his hand over his. Miles' fingers catch in his grip, the ends lifting off one by one, searing in rejection.

"You have enough on your plate." It's an excuse, something else to put between them to serve as a makeshift boundary.

But it's bullshit, just like it always is. Especially when it comes to Peter's outright refusal to engage in any type of difficult conversation. One deflection after another, a bad placed joke and several headaches later and _maybe_ — just maybe, you might reach an agreeable conclusion by the end of it.

_Fuck that._

He's not letting him off the hook that easily.

Miles presses himself against him, loves the way Peter's arms immediately come up to wrap around him despite the initial fight he put up. They're big, but then again everything was bigger when it came to him. Peter was older, a little rougher around the edges and his body even more seasoned. Miles loves it— loves _him_. Doesn't even want to admit to himself how much he loves being manhandled until Peter's the one doing it.

"I think you should put all this extra energy into something else, uh, a little more productive…" he trails off, leans up until he's hovering right in front of his lips. Miles is testing him, overeager hands pushing on all his little buttons; desperate to get a reaction. "I'm pretty sure your bedroom still has a couple of things that still need to be cleaned up. I could help you out with all those hard to reach places."

He's wagging his eyebrows, completely ridiculous and over the top with it. Peter rolls his eyes, tries desperately to hold back a smile as he comes to grip his waist all hard.

"Ha… _no._ Still cute that you tried though. Absolutely terrifying, actually— but cute."

"We'll talk later though, right?" Miles looks into his eyes, wants to know above all else that they'll be okay.

"About that…" he starts off. Miles' chest feels tight suddenly. One look at Peter's face and it's all wrong. "I really think you should tell your mom about… last night," he finishes lamely.

"I thought we agreed that we'd wait."

Peter sighs, lets his hands fall off Miles.

"I know, but this is serious. I don't think I can show my face… knowing what I did," it's said all dirty, like what happened last night was just a throwaway mistake. As if it were just another wrong turn in Peter's life that Miles had the misfortune to be involved in. His role in it diminished to something passive and forfeit, not even worth mentioning because it was something done _to_ him.

Nevermind the fact that he begged for it, drove Peter crazy until he finally wore him down and got him all over him.

"When she finds out, she'll be pissed, and I really, _really_ don't want that." Peter's shifting, his eyes everywhere but Miles' face. He closes them finally, a tremble in his voice. "I don't need a pissed off councilwoman coming after my hide and making my life harder— not after everything that's already happened with the both of us."

" _If,_ " Miles tries, hopeful against Peter's lips. " _If_ she finds out." He drags his hands under Peter's shirt, rubs on his stomach before he starts trailing down. His fingers catch on the string of his sweatpants, pull until they're slightly loose under Miles' grip. Peter's breath catches, shaky hands coming to his own to stop him.

"God, you're gonna get me into so much trouble." He kisses along Peter's neck, watches as he shuts his eyes tighter and gets all tense. "To think, all these years as Spider-Man and one kid is what gets me into the system. What is my life coming to?"

"You need to relax, dude. You're way too stressed out right now."

"You make me this way. I can already feel my hair starting to fall out."

"Don't you have a couple of years left till that actually starts happening, though? Chill, Pete. Nobody's gonna come looking for you."

"Do not put that kind of curse on me." He leans down, kisses Miles back finally. Peter grips his face, looks at him all intense. Miles can tell it's no longer a joke, but instead something else and it's _uncomfortable_. It's completely different from last night. Peter's frigid and unyielding, and all he wants is to pull away from his touch, can feel his hands burn into his skin the longer they stay there. "I love you— you know that. But I need you not to fight me on this."

He scoffs.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that. I am _not_ telling her, Pete. Not right now. I just… can't."

Peter steps back.

"Either you tell her on your own terms, or you're not going on patrol for the next three months. No more missions, no more stake-outs— absolutely _no_ contact," It's said in a gruff way, too hard and with such a finality that it just _hurts_.

"Man, I know you're not serious…"

Peter looks at him, deadpan and for the first time since earlier Miles notices the dark circles starting to form under his eyes. Peter looks tired, irritable and too much like a grown up in the light. His eyes aren't kind anymore just guarded, blinking lifelessly and Miles knows he hasn't slept at all.

"You wanted this life, then you've got to deal with the consequences. It's no different than when we don the suit," he says, sounding more like a parent than he does a lover, and Miles hates it. For a second even hates Peter and what he's making him do.

He feels a familiar anger bubble up the longer he stands there, knows deep down that Peter is right, but knows even more that he can't be here right now or he'll blow.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"It's not punishment, Miles. All I'm asking is for you to be honest." He tilts his face up, warmer now. "I think your mom deserves the truth—"

"Or maybe you're just trying to ease a guilty conscience." He stares into his eyes, angry and defiant.

"That's not fair." He grips the back of his neck, rubs his fingers there and pulls him close. "I'm trying to help you out, Miles. I've been around long enough to know that anything built on lies doesn't last."

"No, you're just trying to save your own skin. You can't deal with what happened so you're putting it all on me. Like it's my fault— like you could've ever actually loved me. Shows me, doesn't it?"

He doesn't mean to hurt him when he says it, hates the way his eyes get all teary and Peter is stepping away in shock. He's never been this angry, doesn't know why he's reaching to hurt Peter first before he reaches for him in love. He feels the tears come on, turns around and starts looking for his suit so he can just zip away from this fucking nightmare. He doesn't talk anymore, doesn't look as Peter stares at him all sad and broken. He doesn't want to see it, feels his chest constrict in sudden fear of what his hands have done. How they've reached just to break something else.

"I…" he doesn't turn around, goes straight to Peter's bathroom and grabs his suit from the laundry pile. "I should go. I'll see you when I see you."

"Miles… you don't have to go. I know it's scary." He's chasing after him, almost rounds up on him before Miles fully camouflages himself. Peter's blocking the exit, his arms pressed against the doorframe.

"I know you're there. I can sense you…" he scrunches his face up again, does the same thing with his nose, clearly in disgust with himself. "I could _smell_ you all through the afternoon, even while you slept." His eyes get all big again, a hint of arousal wafting off of him for just a second before it's gone again, he stops, says gently instead, "I'd know _you_ anywhere. Just….come out, Miles."

"I can't do this," he says softly after a while, "I can't be the man you need me to be. Not like this."

"You're already you, Miles." He looks soft, eyes wide as he says it, delicate and much too earnest. "I think that's more than enough."

Miles blinks, watches as Peter presses himself against the doorframe and looks for him in the empty space. He wants to reach out, let himself be comforted, but it's so hard when it means he'll have to let Peter touch him, reach and hope it doesn't hurt him as much as it already does.

"No… it's not." He lets himself be seen then, hangs halfway down the ceiling until he's right in front of Peter's face. "I ran."

"You came back though. That always counts for something."

"What if I don't come back… what if I can't get through this and I just…leave? What if I can't be who you want me to be?"

Peter swallows. Miles watches as hurt flashes through his eyes, but it turns hopeful, tender as he grips his face. He's looking to him now, wants Peter to hold him and tell him everything will be okay. Needs him like a child, grasping and needy in the dark.

"I'd love you anyway."

"Promise?"

It hangs in the air, heavy and too much, but Peter doesn't even blink. His hands are on his jaw in seconds, soft fingers pressing into the side of his face as he kisses him.

"Promise."

Miles wants to cry, feels all at once like a burden has just been lifted from him.

He zips down from the ceiling, pushes at Peter till he stumbles. A hard press and he's backed up onto the bed. It's entirely too rough, a bite on Peter's lips and he's shoving his shirt off his chest, dips down and digs his hands into his hips. He's breathing hard, can't see anything else except Peter arching up and moaning into his mouth. He's touching everywhere now, practically ripping Miles' clothes off of him. He can't wait, jumps off of him just to strip completely and sit on Peter's naked lap.

"Woah, _woah_ , bud," Peter's gasping against his lips, a tentative hand on his hip as he tries to calm him down, but Miles doesn't want to stop. He's holding on to Peter's face, kissing him feverishly, his teeth grazing his lips every couple of seconds. It's too fast, Peter thinks, can't even get a grip as Miles pushes him down into the bed and webs his wrists up.

"Don't try to stop me," he's growling, reaches between their bodies to grab onto Peter's dick, his mouth not once leaving the other. His head is swimming, goes almost blind as Miles strokes him.

"I'm not— _Miles_ , slow down, damnit."

"I can't," he bites back, his voice quivering from on top of him. Miles is shaking, unsteady hands raking over his body; barely in control. "I don't know what's going on but I can't stop. I… I want you… like this."

He sees Peter's face, can't hear anything else but his heart in the empty space, hammering so loud that it syncs with his breath. The want was crushing. One look, another brush of his hands over his chest, a sucked in breath and it was turned unbearable.

"It's just hormones, buddy. Just… slow down. Talk to me." Peter tries again, knows he's failing already when Miles bucks over him.

God, he was way too old for this shit.

"It's not hormones. You said all that _stuff._ Told me you loved me again. This is your fault."

It sounds like he's crying already, a clear vindication in his voice as Peter looks up at him. His hair is tousled all messily, the edges of it framing his face in just the right way where it takes Miles' breath away. He looks wild, wholly free and beautiful. Untamed beneath the squeaky clean exterior.

Miles places his hand above his chest, right over his heart and watches it rise. Peter's eyes follow his every movement, the green of them overtaken by lust. Miles adjusts himself over him, moves his legs until they're saddling him, holding him down flush against the bed so he can't move. Peter drinks him in, an uncontrolled passion behind his eyes— hungry just for him.

Miles needs him like this.

"Christ— we've already done it twice, Miles. We can't keep going on like this."

It's half-hearted; Peter trying to placate himself with just another empty excuse.

Miles pushes his face into his neck, breathes him in until it's all he can smell. He loves his scent, the smell of cologne mixed in with sweat; wants Peter all over until he smells just like him. He doesn't understand where the thought is coming from, only knows that he has to satisfy the compulsion before he goes officially crazy.

"It's actually three. Our first time— last night," he says, as if Peter could ever forget. "Once in the shower, then another after that. Now four… in what? Less than twelve hours?" He nuzzles against his ear, bites and Peter breaks free from his webbing just in time to hold him up. His hands are running up his sides, slow as they dip into the hard lines of his back, his nails sinking in as he's pushed to the edge. "I'm guessing you can't stop either."

"No… I can't," he admits finally, his voice strained and suddenly he's looking at Miles in just the right way where his insides feel like they're on fire. He knows what's coming, lets Peter flip them over and place his face against the mattress. He hears the _thwip_ of a web reach for something, followed by liquid running. He feels Peter reach inside him then, all prior hesitation gone as cold fingers draw him open.

"No," he's mewling, gripping the sheets. It's not what he wants.

"Miles, you know we can't."

"I don't care." He angles his hips up, needs Peter right this second and not a moment later. "I don't care if it hurts. I just…I _need_ you. _Please_."

Peter looks down, feels the guilt come up and choke him as he takes in Miles' face. It's tear stricken, the bottom of his eyes red rimmed and puffy. He looks exactly his age then, all teenage angst and much too young and vulnerable for whatever it is Peter's about to do to him. He feels like a monster just as he ruts against him, his large eyes looking up at Peter in adoration. He's drowning in them, the black of his irises darkening until he's fallen in too deep, reaches out and tugs on Peter till he's crawling back to him. Bloody broken bruises, a heart ripped open and he's burrowing into his flesh; doesn't know just how far gone he is until Miles has fully sunken his claws into him.

 _He can't_ — he can't keep going like this. Only realizes in horror that he can't stop himself from taking him again anyway as he removes his fingers and slides in instead. Miles' spine seizes under his touch, the muscle there frozen by the initial discomfort. He's making this face, equal parts pain as it is pleasure, and Peter's insides twist.

He hisses, a silent sob coming from his mouth as Peter goes in all the way. It feels amazing _— Miles_ feels fucking amazing. He rocks slowly in place, grips Miles' hips so he can't run.

_'As if he'd ever run.'_

Peter thinks selfishly, almost prideful in knowing that Miles would never run from him. Even if he told him to, even if it's what's best for him— even if it's what's right.

He's selfish. He knows it. Feels it deep in his bones. He's a selfish prick who wants Miles all to himself. Damn the consequences and damn everything else. He doesn't care if they're doomed, doesn't care if Miles has better things to do than waste his youth on him. If he's gonna be a monster, he'll be a damn good one. He'll take and take and take till he's all his. Peter will love Miles when he asks, just enough so he doesn't _even_ think about leaving him ever again. He'll give him what he wants, he'll fuck him every night till he's crying. He'll be his lover, his boyfriend, his husband, his mentor, his guardian, his partner— his _everything_ if only he gets to keep him like this forever. Hell, he'd give him a baby if he could, wants to trap him forever so he doesn't leave.

He doesn't know what's wrong with him, what it is about Miles that makes him lose it like this, knows only that it's all wrong in all the right ways.

Miles is sobbing, wholly overwhelmed underneath him. He can't make any other sound other than this broken moan. All choked up and he's arching onto him. _It's beautiful._ His back is glistening, the muscle there tensed, his shoulders drawn up as he holds himself up.

He's giving himself to Peter, loosening the reins till he's no longer the one in control.

 _'Take it.'_ Blurry eyes burning straight through, looking up at him, waiting for salvation. It's him. It's all him. It's always been him. _'It's yours— I'm yours.'_

Peter drapes himself over him, bites into the back of his neck until he feels Miles scrape his nails against the side of his face, holds his jaw there lovingly as he kisses them away. It's all pain, borderline euphoric, and Peter doesn't want it any other way. Not if it isn't with him. Not if he can't have him like this for the rest of his life.

He reaches down, jacks Miles off while he rams into him. His legs are shaking again, vibrating against Peter and all he wants is to watch him fall apart from his touch alone.

He's rutting against him like an animal, too rough to the point where he's no longer fucking him in love. It's something more, something far too intense for Peter to put a name to it, but just familiar enough that he knows what he's doing. He feels a part of him recoil, knows he's trying to claim something that should've never been his in the first place. He can't shut it out, can't stop his mind from latching onto Miles and screaming, " _mine, mine, mine_."

But that's exactly the problem, isn't it? Who's saying that he can't have it? Who's saying that Miles can't be his, like this, forever? What's stopping Peter from making him his? Guilt? Responsibility? His conscience? Funny how none of that seemed to matter in the end— not if Miles had any say in it.

And god, did he have a lot to say. He was so smart, so beautiful and so kind. He was always thinking of others, was always looking to help somebody else. Miles was the perfect son, the perfect friend, the perfect _lover_ , and Peter's so proud of the man he's becoming. Can only feel his chest constrict in absolute pride when he reminds himself that it's all his.

He leans back, grabs him by the hips till Miles is face down, his face pressed to Peter's pillow like a prayer. He's making the sweetest sounds he's ever heard in his life, each little moan and desperate whine getting Peter even more riled up until he's lost in it. Miles opens his eyes, looks back at him as he moves inside him. His eyes are glossed over, shiny and full of Peter's reflection, see only him as he mutters through sobs, " _I love you_."

It's the worst thing Peter's ever heard.

For if this is love— if this is him loving Miles, then it's all wrong.

"Don't say that," Peter says, all guilt ridden again.

He can't look at him like this.

Miles looks on confused, but then it changes and he gets this look of pity on his face. There he was looking straight through him, peering, all knowing and wise beyond his years and Peter hates that even more. He hates that he's ruined yet another thing just with his touch alone, hates that Miles knows him just as much as he knows himself. It's terrifying. His love becoming just another burden that he doesn't want to carry. One Peter doesn't even know if he's strong enough to carry alone in the first place.

He wants to cry, wants to get off him and disappear.

"Please. Don't say it."

"I love you," Miles repeats, a tear running down his face. He turns his chest to look at Peter, lets him squeeze until his fingers are burning into his skin. He's too rough, is hurting him as he fucks him, just like Miles is hurting him.

" _Stop_ ," Peter begs. He watches as the skin on his thighs ripples, moves with the force of him and he hates that too.

"I love you."

He's crying for real now, is whispering to Peter, chanting the same phrase over and over like it's something holy. Peter's hips connect with his at just the right moment, pulling on every word from Miles lips, drawing it out into a breath until it's suffocating him.

"I love you. I love you. _I love you_."

It's like a knife in his chest, digging too deep and suddenly he's bleeding out over him.

He can't take it, doesn't know what to do with all this love, doesn't know how to accept it without it tearing him apart.

Peter bends down, kisses Miles tears off his face before tasting him. It lingers on his tongue, sweeter still than last night. He's on his side now, Peter kneeled over him, his hand getting Miles off as he unravels inside him. It's his last marking, the one thing he'll allow himself when everything else seems impossible.

Miles holds him, lets Peter breathe over him as he comes to grips with what he's done.

"I love you," Miles says again. It's nothing more than a whisper at this point, his voice hoarse against Peter's cheek, raw and it just makes him feel even worse.

He knows what he's doing, knows what it actually means when he says it. It hangs there, reaches for Peter, comforting and all encompassing, a light so magnificent that it engulfs him. He wants to say it back, realizes instead that he wants Miles more than anything. Loves him so much that it scares him— his affection for him bordering on the point of absolute devotion.

He's crying, so close to losing it as Miles brings his face up. His eyes, darkened like an endless abyss, stare at him through the shadows; mesmerizing and completely intoxicating. Peter sinks into him, greedy hands digging into flesh.

It was now or never.

"I love you," Peter whispers out finally, leans down till their foreheads touch. It's too loud, burning on his tongue as he says it. "I love you too."

He kisses him and Miles sighs, all relieved as Peter grips his face. He doesn't want to ever let him go, needs him by his side or he'll fall apart. But he can't say that can he? So he rolls to the side, away from Miles' body and curls in on himself, brings his knees up till they're touching his stomach. He feels like a child, his sheets now tear stained and his insides cut open for Miles to see. It's too much, too intimate as he feels his hands creep over his chest. One of them pauses over the scar that Otto gave him, soft fingers pressing in over it, covering it away from sight as the other holds him in place. He feels Miles hug him then, his body warm against his back, strong arms around his middle as he kisses along his neck. He's being gentle, too soft in spite of everything.

"It's okay, Pete… you're okay."

"I'm fine," he mutters, and even he doesn't believe it.

"You're not fine." Miles huffs against his neck. "You've never been just _fine_. Every time you say that you're only ever five bad things away from having a mental breakdown. I know you. You're not fine, Pete."

"You don't have to be right all the time. It's an option. You know that right?"

"But it's more fun that way." Peter only grunts in response. "You need to talk to me instead of bottling everything up. It's not healthy, man. You finna get a heart attack one of these days and I'm just gonna let it happen."

"Bottling everything up is easier."

"Nothing good comes easy. You know that."

Peter blinks, tries to bat the remaining tears away.

"Look, I'll make you a deal…" Miles pauses, almost debating with himself as his arms tighten around Peter. He breathes out loudly by his ear, his heart pulsing against his back. "I'll tell my mom about us, but you've gotta stop treating me like a little kid. You can't dick me down one second and then the next pull the whole big brother card on me and threaten to rat me out to my mom. You can't have it both ways. Either you're with me because you want to be, regardless of everything else, or you're not. This is your chance. I'm giving you an out, Peter. _Take it._ "

His hands slip down, right to his abdomen and suddenly he's touching him again, his hands to Peter's dick and _holy shit_ does it feel good.

Sore and borderline painful, but good.

Miles is eager, wants only to please him just like he always does, but there's something else. It's not the same youthful enthusiasm from when they're working: a holler as he soars past the city's skyscrapers, looks back at Peter as he makes a dive, searches for his approval; yearning for it above everything else. Here it's demanding, each stroke challenging Peter and asking for his attention.

"Just let me know and we can stop whenever. I'll get my stuff and leave," he's whispering, his voice breathy and low against Peter's ear.

Miles clamps down, strokes him a little harder until he hears him start whimpering. It's all instinct, his thumb over the head and pushing down, his other fingers spaced over the length of it. He's only done it twice at this point, but being with Peter is easy. It was familiar in ways that being with everybody else wasn't. He didn't have to try with Peter, he didn't have to lie or be someone he wasn't, he didn't have to be a hero, some dashing knight in white… everything with Peter was just _easier_. Easier to handle, easier to take. Life with Peter was sweet and wonderful and just this vibrant shade of good that he couldn't get anywhere else. But above all, being with Peter was perfect. It made him complete.

"I'll get in the shower and wash you off. Put on my clothes and swing home, _alone_ , and never see you again. I'll get someone else. I'll move on. Let them do what you did to me. You want that, Peter? You okay with that?"

Miles squeezes, moves his hand agonizingly slow then fast again— each touch on his skin domineering, fully calculated in its movements. He's toying with him, applies only enough pressure to keep him on the edge, close to spilling over but never satisfied.

" _No_ ," Peter whines, his head falling back onto Miles' shoulder.

They're both quiet then, the only sound being Peter's quiet moans against the pillow, another jerk and he's practically vibrating in Miles' grasp.

"I can get someone my age, mess around for a bit— let them break my heart. But it won't hurt cause you would have broken it first." He bites down into his neck, teeth scraping atop salted skin, kisses until he hears Peter's heart about to burst just from his touch. It's too loud, the sound of his blood mixing in with the pressure inside until it's thumping in Miles' ears. _His_ blood, Miles thinks, blood which was his own. They were connected now. Peter's blood was his blood, and Miles' was his. "You were my first— my only one, and you broke it. You broke my heart, Peter."

"I didn't— I'd never," he can't even talk as Miles speeds up, his hand rough against his skin at just the right angle where he's starting to see white behind his eyes. "God, Miles I would never do—"

"You'd never what?" He's cocky now, his other hand coming to pinch at his nipple before it trails over the dips on his ribs. One by one _by one_. Nails scraping against skin, soft like feathers, and then his fingers are holding onto his jaw. Miles pulls his head back until his jugular is exposed, sinks his teeth into it while he keeps going. Another stroke and Peter's desperate, his hips starting to move on their own.

Miles stops, holds his hand in place so neither of them can move.

If Peter wanted it that badly he needed to work for it.

"I'd never leave you."

_'Tell me again.'_

"I don't believe you."

"I love you. I'd never leave you, Miles," it's breathy, a little too whiny to the point that it sends Miles' body into overdrive. He wants more, needs Peter to sound like that again.

"Say it like you mean it. Convince me."

Peter's hands come to his arms, they squeeze, his knuckles almost turning white as he holds on.

"Tell me it's never felt this good with anyone else— that nobody else can do it like I do." He pauses, sees a certain redhead in his mind. She's beautiful, _perfect_ , the only other person who Peter has ever loved the way he loves Miles now. The envy seeps into him, burning as it consumes everything inside of him. "Tell me that I feel better than _her_."

Peter stills, hesitates slightly in his grasp before he's shuddering, a light moan escaping his lips just as he's about to talk.

Miles doesn't give him a chance to recover.

He slings his leg over his hips, pushes his calf in between Peter's legs and hooks it behind his right knee. He pulls, spreads them open until they're pinned under him, his hips now tilted up towards Miles. He leans down then, bites on his neck till a small mark is left above his collarbones. Peter's breath stops, the ends of it jittery. He's holding back, his hand suppressing the beginning of another moan as his teeth pull away. It's red at first, pulsing, and Miles knows that it'll be sensitive for the next couple of days. But it looks so good on Peter's skin, the rosy color almost complimenting the small freckles across his shoulders. Miles fixates on it, wants it to stay there forever so no one can ever take what's his. It's his mark and Peter's his.

He's right where he's supposed to be.

"Nobody ever has—"

Another jerk, steady fingers rubbing up and down on a vein, slippery now from Peter's own cum and he's holding back a sob.

"You're the only one who's ever felt this good, Miles." He licks on the bite, his tongue going into the indents one by one, watches as it glistens on Peter's skin like a beacon and it was calling him home. He's sighing, tired as Miles finishes him off. It's slow now, one hand over his stomach as Peter breathes, the other stroking him gently through the high. "You're my only one."

Miles feels his chest burn, like electricity coursing through him when Peter slumps against him. He loves him, maybe more than he's ever loved anybody else, (maybe more than he ever will). He knows this and yet all he feels is peace. He's exactly where he wants to be, knows deep inside that Peter is the only one for him, and when the time comes, Miles won't care what they say— just as long as he gets to keep him like this.

"Good. Because you're…" he trails off mid sentence, soft fingers holding his head up, shifting until Peter's cold, his body moving away from him. "You're my only _everything_."

Miles kisses the marking one last time before he rolls out of his bed, stretching as he walks around the room towards his closet. Peter gets on his back, splays himself over the mattress as he watches him, his eyes fixed on Miles and his eyes hazy.

His mind feels like it's stuck inside a dream, the fringes of it out of touch with reality.

"What are you doing?"

Miles doesn't turn around, instead digs through his stuff until he's pulling one of Peter's shirts off a hanger. It's an old sweatshirt from his university days, the logo on the front all worn and faded away at this point but Miles looks at it as if it's the most valuable thing in the world.

"Getting dressed. I promised my mom I'd be home by now." He replies, nervous as he says it. "I can't stay here forever."

Peter's chest singes, feels the same feeling from before creep up just from watching him. It's the ugly beginning's of separation anxiety, the initial high being replaced by a longing so deep that it feels bottomless. He wants to pull him back into the bed, wrap the covers around him and just sleep. Miles' face peaceful next to him, a leg tangled in between Peter's and he won't ever leave.

He pushes it down, holds the nausea that arises from it at bay just as he looks away.

"You're leaving?"

"Just for a bit. We're going on patrol later anyway." He slips on the shirt, turns around and looks at Peter as he searches around the room for some pants. He comes to one of the laundry baskets. "Is this clean?"

Peter nods. Miles pauses as he looks closer. They're _his_ clothes. Half of it was just stuff that he'd forgotten about. His mind pulled in so many directions that it was hard to keep track of anything. He always managed to leave something behind every time he stayed over. Peter would save it, not telling him until Miles would come and see it all piled up. His things mingled with Peter's, almost seamlessly, both of them not noticing even when it took over his space. He'd been looking for most of the stuff here like crazy and it was just… sitting in Peter's apartment the whole time, as if waiting for him to come back home.

"You did my laundry?" He asks and Peter can hear how much he loves him just from the tone alone. It's surprise, then tenderness as he looks up. His eyes get all big, full of adoration and Peter's chest clenches— doesn't feel worthy of the way he's looking at him. "You're the best, dude." He grabs some sweats and some underwear, slips them on as he hops on one leg. Peter watches fondly from across the room, laughs as Miles almost loses his balance and falls on his ass.

"I worry for you. How are you surviving out there with these bad of reflexes?"

"Yeah, you say that, but I bet I can beat you with my eyes closed. Actually— no, I bet I could take you with my hands tied behind my back."

Peter can't keep the image out of his head, even when Miles laughs and shrugs it off, even when it occurs to him that it clearly isn't what he meant.

"I bet," he says absently, and suddenly Miles is leaning down over him, seeking a kiss and god— he's so pretty with Peter's clothes on and he smells like him and he looks so good and— _it's perfect._

Miles is absolutely perfect.

Peter leans up weakly, lets Miles' hand rest atop his chest as he kisses him softly in goodbye.

"By the way, you're not getting this back. _Ever_. I hope you know that." His eyebrows scrunch up, serious as he says it, then fond.

Peter looks up, the same look mirrored in his own eyes. His hand tightens around his elbow, grips Miles until he's pressed back against the edge of the bed.

_'Don't go.'_

"Yeah, I figured. It looks better on you anyway, so I guess I can live with it."

Miles' eyes turn dark for a second, his body practically purring at the compliment.

 _'You know what else would look good on me?'_ he thinks, like a habit at this point, his cheeks heating up at the implication. Miles doesn't think he'll ever get tired of pushing Peter's buttons, wants to tip him over the edge and have him all on him one more time. But he can't stay. Not right now. But later? Later he fully intends to collect his due. Needs Peter to touch him until he's fast asleep next to him.

"I'll see you later? Maybe tonight?" It's an invitation, entirely suggestive but not demanding enough that he feels pressured to agree.

He ponders it for a moment, (maybe a moment too long, in retrospect), Miles' face falling just slightly, not bothering at all to hide the immense longing he feels for him, or how much he wants him to say yes. So, Peter complies, immediately— wholeheartedly. Even when his stomach flips. The taste of bile never that far off.

 _'_ _Damnit, Peter, say_ _no. Say no. Say no.'_

"If that's what you want." Miles beams. "But let me walk you out first."

Miles grasps his heart like a dork, staggers in place as he feigns surprise.

"Wow, and here I thought chivalry was dead."

"What are you talking about?" A wolfish grin and his canines are peeking out. "I've been outright gentlemanly this whole time."

"Bro, you know that's cap," he says fondly, knowing fully well that the slang is probably going straight over Peter's head. Not that he minds. Peter's too nice to mind.

He can't keep the smile off his face even as he gets dressed, Peter's hair fluffing up as the shirt slides over his head. Miles stands there, watches as the skin over his ribs tenses up, ripples and just with that he _really_ doesn't want to leave.

"That's libel, babe," Peter says smoothly, not thinking as he puts his hand behind his back, brushing past Miles as he gets his hoodie. Miles stares, partly in shock before Peter's voice pulls him out of it.

_'That's definitely something new to get used to.'_

"You coming? If you hurry you can get on the A train in the next ten minutes."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

They walk to the door in silence, Peter behind him like a shadow. They stop at the door for a second, Miles' backpack in hand, his phone in the other. He knows they're stalling, neither of them wanting to say goodbye and leave the other.

"I don't want to go," Miles says timidly, looks up into Peter's eyes and the want comes in waves then, grips him until it's dragging him under. "What the hell do I even tell my mom? She's gonna freak."

"You'll be fine." Peter clasps his shoulder, all warm and comforting. "I know you will. Just confide in her. She's your mom. That's what she's there for, Miles… What's the worst that can happen?" He says and they both grimace— know all too well everything that can possibly go wrong.

"She won't let me see you anymore."

"That's not gonna happen, Miles. Just… relax. Don't think about it too hard."

"And if it does?" He's looking up all sad as Peter holds on to him. He feels his fingers squeeze around him, almost possessive. Miles hears it in his mind, watches the thought cross Peter's mind before it disappears.

_'I won't let her.'_

It's the coddling mother hen in him taking over, he'd say, but Miles just sees it as the protective part. The one that doesn't let go no matter what. The same one that wouldn't let him train for months when they first started out and the one that freaked out when he broke his toe jumping off the bridge. Peter almost raced to him, dropped everything even while on Spidey business to make sure he was okay.

It's all Miles needs.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Just take it one step at a time, bud. That's all we can do," he says instead.

"Yeah, yeah." He finishes just as Peter opens the door, his other hand pressed to the small of Miles' back, pushes him forward gently over the threshold. Peter follows, shuts the door behind them until they're both in the hallway and standing over Peter's door mat (which is _of course_ Spidey themed). Miles scoffs.

The dude was everything _but_ subtle.

Miles goes to kiss him, only stops himself when he notices two other neighbors right across from them. They're drinking wine, basically chatting it up until they see the both of them. Miles recognizes them immediately. It's Ms. Auyenco, an older woman, a streak of grey in her hair— paints murals downtown, and Kira, a broke college student who somehow makes the best mofongo he'd ever tasted.

Miles helped them out a couple of times, even got Peter to pitch in for a few of them.

They give each other this look, then they're looking at Peter, then Miles— take another sip while they all stand there awkwardly. He needs to break it, but he doesn't know how to, only wants to punch himself as he mutters out, "Good afternoon, ladies. You guys, uh, had a good night?"

They stop again, almost spit out their drinks as Peter starts to turn bright red next to him.

"Yeah, yeah, _definitely_ … maybe some better than others," Kira retorts, smirking over her glass at Peter. She leaves it as a question, her tone saccharine despite what she's implying. "There was just this weird thumping sound all night. It was driving me crazy. Had to turn up the TV and everything. You hear any of that, Peter?"

"Uh, nope. Definitely not. It was completely silent on my end." He's shifting, bouncing gently from foot to foot. Miles locks eyes with Kira, notices as she gets this glint in her eyes that he immediately recognizes.

_Oh, Peter would hate him for this._

He nods, gives her the go ahead as he stands there.

"Really? Cause you look like you slept like shit, Parker."

"I, uh… long night," he says awkwardly and Miles is just holding back laughter at this point.

"Is that why your little boy toy looks like he's practically glowing?" Miles feels his face burn, timid eyes looking up at Peter and Kira laughs, loud and boisterous inside the hall. "Oh, this is priceless. _Nice_ going, babe. You got yourself a keeper," she stops, glances at both of them over her glass, teasing as she says it, absolutely rubbing it in Peter's face, "Who knew Parker liked them young, _and_ with a little bit of spice to them? Didn't know white boy over here had it in him."

"Oh, he definitely has it in him," Miles gets out, totally involuntary. He watches as Peter stills, his eyes going all wide and for a second there he swears he's gonna keel over and die right on the spot.

"He was always talking about you, small fry. You did good tapping it early. God knows half the perverts here wanted to. We had a running bet on it and everything." She clinks her glass against Ms. Auyenco's, a smug grin on her face. "Now Dave owes me ten bucks."

Peter gets even redder, his face looking like it's sunburned the longer they stand there.

But Miles isn't done, not by a long shot.

He turns to him, fully aware that both women are staring at him, their eyes locked onto the both of them as Miles reaches up and pulls Peter's face down towards him. He's not thinking, only smirks as he kisses him, all intense and completely self-indulgent as he does it. Peter does this yelp, freezes for a bit before he's kissing him back. His hands hover in midair, hesitant to touch him like _that_ in front of other people.

Miles knows all too well how old school Peter is when it comes to PDA, but the kiss is over before it starts, a final peck and he's looking down at him all starstruck.

"Jesus christ, I'm gonna have to move apartments after this," Peter whispers, rubs his eyes and Miles grins in pride.

"You'll call me later, right?" He's circling his waist now, his hands creeping under Peter's shirt where they can't see. He knows he's being a dick, but he can't help the deep sense of satisfaction he feels when Peter's breath hitches in his throat, swallows and then he's looking down at him all heated.

"Yeah, yeah— for sure. _Definitely_ ," he says dazedly, here but not really here, and Miles knows exactly what he's thinking as he steps away.

"¿Te veo después, entonces?" Peter only understands a couple words, but he still gets the gist. Miles stops, debates it in his head before he gets this wicked smile on his face. He knows that what he's about to say is completely and absolutely foul, but he needs to see Peter's face as he says it or it won't be worth it. "Te amo, _papi._ "

Peter chokes, looks like he's about to get a heart attack as Miles kisses him one final time.

_Oh, he's so going to hell._

"Okay…that's— wow, that's a lot," he's having an inner crisis, his eyes wide and full of fear, confused and Miles is enjoying every second of it. "Am I turned on right now? Holy shit. That's no— _no_ , that is definitely _not_ okay. It's time for you to go home." He's covering his eyes, not wanting to look at Miles after whatever the hell that was, doesn't even trust himself to respond normally the next time he sees him. "Please. For the love of god just go home. I seriously can't handle you when you're like this."

"So you did like it."

"Go home, Miles. _Now_ ,” it’s a command.

"Fine. But we're coming back to this later."

"No. We're not. Goodbye, Miles, and…good luck." Peter surprises him, grips his face all tender as he leans down and kisses him. "Let me know how it goes, okay?"

Miles nods, squeezes him back one final time before he really has to leave. He turns as he walks, can't help but look on as Peter waves and then he's disappearing, his hoodie draped over his shoulders in such a way that Miles can see the mark's outline all the way from down the hall. He hears Kira yell something vaguely along the lines of, "get a new bed, Parker," just as Peter goes inside and closes the door.

Miles smiles to himself, only realizes as he gets outside that it's _raining_ — hard. The water falls on him, drenching him through his clothes as he stands there, cold and alone.

Maybe he _really_ should've taken Peter's hoodie.

*

He doesn't expect Ganke to be waiting there at the apartment just as he walks in. It makes this talk even harder, to have more than one person privy to something that's already so difficult to talk about. He's excited when he sees him, hops up and hugs him and Miles does hug him back, but it's awkward. He realizes too late that he smells funny, his skin wet and then dry again, Peter's scent layered underneath all the rain. He doubts that they can actually smell it though. It's all in his head, he tells himself, it isn't real. But it's more than just that. _None_ of it felt real once he was outside of Peter's apartment. Not last night, and definitely not today. Even this talk doesn't feel real. Instead it feels almost pointless.

Suddenly he can't remember his promise, or what it actually meant when he said it. Peter wasn't here anymore, and he couldn't do it on his own.

He sits through it, smiles and nods as they pass around the food. Ganke's telling him about some new project that he can't quite remember the name of, something along the line of a new interface for their app. Talks of remapping it so it's more secure and so they can manage new requests without it crashing all the time, something that can handle all the new influx of potential clients. Miles nods, pretends that he's over the moon all while his stomach drops. He can't hear a thing, isn't absorbing anything long enough for it to stick.

"Miles, honey, are you okay? You're not eating."

He looks down, notices too late how he hasn't even touched his food but instead shoveled it around until all the colors mixed together in a mush. Miles knows he's a terrible liar. He can't think of a single thing to say that would make it better. He panics then, knows that Peter's counting on him to be the responsible one once again, and he just _can't_. He can't be the man he wants him to be when just the thought of telling the truth makes him feel like throwing his guts up.

He watches as his mom's eyes get that concerned look about them where she's trying to take him apart in her mind. If Peter and him had a Spidey sense it was nothing compared to his Mom's. She could analyze Miles with just a look, run everything through her mind until she pinpointed what was bothering him.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm… fine," he tries, hates the way his voice cracks before it evens itself out. " _I'm fine_. We just had a really long night and I'm tired." He holds his breath, remembers for the first time since last night how he got banged up right before he went to Peter's. The wounds were mostly gone at this point, but he can still feel them lingering under his clothes now that the initial high was wearing off. No doubt over exerted by his raunchier late night activities. They stretch as he coughs, grips his sides and then she's looking at him even more worried.

"Once again, I just want to preface this whole conversation by saying that I'm fine. I'm okay, Ma. I promise. I'm just tired."

She looks disappointed, reaches over and picks up Miles' plate then her own. Miles doesn't say anything else. He helps her clean up, does the dishes while he lingers back close to her, wanting to to tell her but not wanting to see her reaction.

_'I think your mom deserves the truth—'_

He hears Peter in his mind, chastising as he stands over him, but all Miles thinks instead is that maybe just this once, lying is the bigger kindness.

*

Ganke ends up staying over, refuses to leave him alone when he notices just how weird Miles is being.

He doesn't try to expand on whatever he was talking about initially at the table but instead he lets him lead, sits on his bed as they power up the gaming console. Miles thinks he's trying the more subtle approach, a warm hand on his shoulder and then he's leaning in, laughing over a stupid joke that Miles said. Ganke knows he hates feeling cornered, is as lenient as humanly possible as he beats him at another round of street fighter, and by the time Miles has lost for the tenth time in a row he knows something is up.

"I know you told your mom that you're just tired…" he says, drawing it out until Miles pays attention. The light from the TV is burning into his eyes, blurry pixels shifting into chromatic hues that stay too long in his peripheral before they ebb away. "But I know you, man. I can tell when you're beating yourself up over something."

What was it today with everyone knowing him all of a sudden? As if his psyche was just this wholly transparent thing meant to be picked apart and figured out.

"Yeah, no. Everything's good. I'm just…" he goes to say it again and Ganke frowns.

"You're not fine. Don't give me that."

He stalls, plays with the hem of Peter's sweatshirt as he falls back on the bed. This was Ganke. He could trust him. And yet, it wasn't about that at all. It was about people knowing his secrets. If people knew, it wouldn't be their thing anymore. There would be no more secret meetups, no lingering glances that resulted in him running back to Peter at the end of the night. Now everyone would have a stake, something to say— another thing to hold him back from his already complicated life. Whatever it was between him and Peter would be tainted and then ruined, and Miles doesn't think he can handle that part of his life falling apart too.

But Ganke lies down next to him, bumps his shoulder against him until Miles looks at him and it feels so heavy just to keep it in. He doesn't want to lie anymore.

"I… didn't come home last night, like I said I did," he starts, and Ganke's face furrows. "I got banged up, so I went to Pete's after. He, uh, got me all fixed up… and I kinda ended up staying…over there."

"Who did? Are you okay?" Miles grimaces.

Trust Ganke to fixate on entirely the wrong thing.

"I couldn't see. They creeped into the sewers before I could see who it was. I tried to track them but the trail went cold."

" _Dude."_

"That's really not the point—" his breath is picking up now, Ganke's face too close and inquisitive for Miles to take. He feels caged, even when he knows it's by his own hand. "That's not what I'm trying to tell you."

"Okay, I'm, uh, listening loud and clear. Whenever you're ready."

Miles flexes his hands, bunches Peter's shirt in his grasp over and over.

"I ended up staying over there… for the night…" he doesn't know how to make it more obvious, feels like he's having a stroke with the way he's having to spell it out for Ganke. "…with _him_."

"And? You guys hang out all the time," he's smiling, too bright inside the darkened room.

Miles closes his eyes, feels the beginning of a headache come on the longer he thinks about it.

"We… uh, we," he's staring at Ganke's face all scared, feels his throat close up just as he's about to get it out. He really, really can't do this. But then he thinks about Peter, about the kind of person he wanted him to be amidst everything else. "We slept _… together_."

Ganke's eyebrows shoot up.

"Like, uh, like a sleepover kind of slept together or like— I don't know, like a… like a _sex_ slept together?" He says it all fast, barely held together and Miles could almost laugh if he wasn't freaking out so much right now.

"What do you think?"

"Oh. _Oh_." He gets this look on his face, his eyes all excited as they zero in on Miles. "Oh my god. You had sex with Spider-Man."

He clamps his hand over his mouth, feels the anxiety climb back up his chest as the beginning sensations of bile crawl up his throat.

"Shh, man, my Mom is right outside! Would it kill you to keep it down? Like chill for once."

" _Sorry_ ," he says, muffled by Miles' hand. Miles removes it slowly, says instead. "Does your Mom know? Like, not that you lost your, uh, your v-card, but like about Peter… in _general_?"

Wasn't that the million dollar question.

"No, and she's not gonna. I can't tell her this." His voice trembles, knows he's only repeating himself at this point.

"Dude, Peter's cool and all, but he's older than us by like, a bit— _scratch that_ , by a lot actually. He's ancient, man. Like super old. Soooo old. A dinosaur even." Ganke is laying it on thick, each word worse than the last and Miles' pride is in shambles by the end of it. "You really wanna sneak behind her back with something like this?"

He sees Peter in his mind again.

He's carrying Miles, his face buried into the crook of his neck, strong arms hooked underneath his legs as he takes him back to his room and there's definitely _nothing_ old about Peter then.

He practically turned Miles' legs into jelly by the end of it.

"Yes. _I do_. And so are you. You're an accomplice now, and you're gonna like it."

Ganke rolls his eyes, and Miles knows that he's probably holding off on calling him melodramatic right about now.

"It's going to blow up in your face, and then what?"

"It's not," he says but all he can think about is Phin, about how he chose to be a coward and hide behind his mask instead of facing up to his mistakes and meeting her in the middle as a friend. The comparison kills him. His chest caving in with the knowledge that he's screwing over Peter in the same exact way. Knows he's being selfish in wanting to be with him, but not in any real way where he could make himself responsible for what happens. Instead Miles wants him alone with no strings attached or hard to maneuver feelings.

"And Peter? If you lie, they're going to blame it on him. Say he wanted to keep it on the low."

"I know that." He opens his eyes, watches as Ganke's face floods with worry. "He wants me to tell her, but I… I can't protect him if they know."

"Your Mom already loves Peter. I'm sure she'll be okay with… _whatever_ it is that's going on between the both of you. But only if you tell her before she finds it out on her own. Do you really wanna have that conversation, especially after the bomb you dropped on her last year? I don't think she can take another surprise." He leans into him until his hand is on top of Miles', a short breath drawed out before he continues. "Plus, Peter's Spider-Man! He saves the city on a daily basis. Everyone knows he's a great guy. With or without the suit. I think… you should trust her a little more, give her the benefit of the doubt."

"Everyone says that, but how many parents would be cool with having a grown man messing around with their kid? Peter's a great guy, sure. But he's also from a completely different world. He doesn't know what it's like to grow up how we did. My uncle alone would freak. Probably start keeping tabs on him or something— try to scare him off."

He grips the bottom of the sweater, pinches it between his fingers and exhales as Ganke stares at him.

Being Spider-Man was hard, but no one ever told him that being him would be even harder. Everything in his life was so complicated all the time and he was so sick of it. If it wasn't almost dying while he saved the city, it was lying to his family, then rainchecking on normal teenage things to go train with Peter, or constantly having to be on patrol, never sleeping and then now the whole _other_ Peter thing. Which he has no doubt Ganke will start calling the sticky spider situation in the next coming days, or the conflation of the Spider-Men, or the two web tango— or any other weird name he usually came up with for stuff like this. It really was just another talent of his that Miles could never keep up with, but one that he appreciated nonetheless.

Ganke doesn't talk, only looks on as Miles' brain works on overdrive to come up with a solution.

"I'll tell her over dinner for my birthday."

"You really wanna do it on your eighteenth? Isn't it supposed to be a fun day for you? Free of stress?"

"I'm Spider-Man now. I'm always stressed. One more day of it isn't gonna make a difference."

Miles sits up, grabs the second controller and throws it back on Ganke's chest.

"Come on. Five more rounds. Then I gotta go. Pete's waiting for me to go on patrol."

Ganke makes a face, a dirty look crossing over it as he grabs the controller and squares up next to him.

"Just patrol?" He snickers, tries to hold it back as they unpause the game. "You're not gonna go shoot some web fluid with him after? Maybe do some extra web slinging…"

They pause, their eyes locking in a stare off before both of them lose it. Miles is laughing, loud and hard, and for a moment everything feels okay again.

*

He waits for Peter to text him first, puts on one of his old suits before he's out of the house. Ganke left not long after the last match and his Mom was fast asleep by the time he left anyway. It was just him and Peter now, long into the night, working together until the sun came up. They usually rotated on the weekends, Peter on the night shift, Miles in the early morning before Peter took over for him again in the afternoon. It was a steady schedule they had, borderline routine.

Peter's waiting for him on some building, two cups of coffee in his hands as he perches atop a billboard. All Miles has to do is see him and his chest feels all light and airy again. He leaps into the air, stretches his legs all the way up until he's upside down, twirls and then he's right next to him. Peter turns to face him, hands him his coffee.

" _Nice_ ," he says, and for a second it sounds just like old times. Back when they were first starting out and Miles was completely clueless and very much a rookie. Back when Peter was just _Peter_ and not this whole other insane thing. "You're getting better every day, Miles. You're basically a pro at this point."

Miles beams under the mask, swells with pride at Peter's compliment.

"I did learn from the best. I don't think I'd be even half this good without you," he says softly, his lips curving into a smile as he rolls up the bottom half of his mask and takes a sip. It's an iced coffee, triple espresso shot, cinnamon with just a hint of coconut, extra whip cream— just like he likes it.

He can feel Peter stare at him. The lenses on his mask shutter closed and then they're wide open, peering in fixed interest along Miles' jaw. Like a picture, he's trying to save his face inside his mind, doesn't want to blink and have him fade away in front of him.

"You'd be fine without me," he says, barely a whisper.

Miles shakes his head, downs the rest of the coffee in one fell swoop before he focuses back on him. Peter fidgets next to him, his thighs bouncing slightly along the edge.

"I'd be _nothing_ without you."

"You put too much faith in me, kid," Peter bites back, entirely too fond.

"And you don't put enough in yourself." Miles looks up, focuses on Peter till the red of his lenses mirrors his. "I like to believe I'm keeping the balance between the two of us. The sweetness to your saltiness. The jelly to your peanut butter."

"The Starsky to my Hutch," Peter supplies only for Miles to look back, entirely confused. "Right… I forget how young you are. _Ugh_. And I thought I felt like a cradle robber before. How about the Ennis to your Jack? Actually, wait, no, that's way too depressing."

"Take your time, Pete. I'm sure we have all night."

"What about Jack and Rose?" He's looking up at the sky, the stars reflecting off the glass of his lenses, the black of the edges bleeding into the sky until they become one. Peter is infinite then, larger than life as he sits perched. A watchful protector, stronger than any one man should ever be— the weight of the world on his shoulders. "We can pose for it and everything, right at the top of empire state. I call dibs on being Rose, though."

Miles stares, can't help but fall deeper in love with him.

"What about Achilles and Patroclus?"

Peter looks back down. He's staring through him, time stilling as the lights from the buildings above flicker and reflect off of Peter's eyes. He can see the city in them, the darkness only swallowed up by Peter's own light until he's the only thing illuminated.

"Star crossed. Only them against the world. _Poly philtatos_."

"Poly philtatos?" Peter asks, lifts his mask to take a drink out of his own coffee.

"Most beloved," Miles gets out. It feels like he's somewhere else as he says it, like it's something else that's making him do it. "You're my weakness."

Peter stills, wipes the coffee off his mouth. His shoulders are tense but Miles can see the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back before they break out into a soft smile.

"The feeling's mutual, bud." He reaches for him, pulls on his shoulder until Miles is drawn under his arm. He snuggles into him, the upper part of his right shoulder digging into Peter's ribs. He takes a sip, makes this disgusted sound just as he swallows.

"What are you even drinking right now?"

"Burnt coffee. Black. No flavor whatsoever except maybe," he takes another sip, then makes a face, his chest rumbling as he talks."—regret."

"You need professional help. Maybe an intervention."

"Don't I know it. But we gotta stay alert somehow." His hand slinks to Miles' side, rests along his hip loosely while he sips. "There are worse vices. Which reminds me…"

He lets go, bends down instead until he's looking down between them and webbing something up. He pulls and suddenly Miles is looking down at his own suit.

"It's all clean, and I, uh, patched it up for you," He starts, unsure of himself, his voice all jittery as he bounces along the edge, the nervous energy there and in his face as he talks. It's adorable, completely endearing and fully Peter. "I reinforced the sides and double stitched all the thread so it won't rip so fast next time. Updated and reconfigured the software too, ran some diagnostics, got rid of some backdoors, made the response time faster— Ganke's doing good work."

Peter is all excited, only geeks out more with every bit of information he discloses. Miles almost considers it dirty talk with the way his voice is lighting up. A secret love language just between the two of them.

Miles reaches for it, runs his fingers over the fabric in awe. He didn't expect this. Sure, he knew Peter would clean his suit for him, maybe leave it folded out on the windowsill like he usually did when he told him to swing by. A little note with the Spidey symbol drawn on it, a snack attached to the front right by Peter's handwriting:

_Be safe. Remember to take a break every once in a while._

_x. Pete_

But this? This was something else entirely. This was on a whole other level. One Miles wasn't familiar with. This was love and compassion, and a whole lot of effort. This was Peter saying that he cared, that he was always paying attention to anything and everything Miles did.

"I remember you complaining about how the comms didn't switch channels fast enough between analytics, and then the screen fizzing out for a few seconds after a bad hit, and— you don't like it." He's rambling, stops suddenly, and Miles can hear the hurt in his voice as he takes his silence for something else. It would be like Peter to always read the room but never in the right way. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. I thought I could make it better— make your life just a bit easier. I should've left it alone."

He wants to cry, maybe reach over and hug him, but the position they're in doesn't allow it without both of them losing their balance. So he leans in forward slightly, tilts Peter's face up and kisses him instead. He stops, the beginning of another sentence cut off as Miles' lips slot against his carefully. It's only a light peck, their lips barely brushing against each other before Miles leans back and pulls down his mask again. Peter misses his smile already.

"I love it, Pete. Thanks."

"You don't hate it?" Peter says unsure, partly confused, his knuckles raised midair between Miles and him, always reaching for him but never connecting.

"How could I? You basically juiced it up for me, and I didn't even have to ask." Miles says nonchalantly, tries to hide the way he's starting to shake next to him, all starry doe eyes and teenage headiness, pushed further to their limit by Peter's devotion until it threatens to swallow him whole. He taps Peter's chest, a sly smile spreading onto his lips. "To think, all it took was me putting out."

It's the wrong thing to say. He knows it is, yet Peter isn't making one of his faces, so maybe it's okay. He moves, facing Peter till their chests almost touch, needs to know how far he can go before he's calling his bluff. "You gonna start showing out now?" A hand over his thigh, shifting up as he moves closer, the muscle there hard underneath. "Treating me all nice, giving me gifts?"

He hears Peter's pulse contract, shift and then it's pumping faster.

It's like music to his ears.

"I might just have to," it's easy— carefree as he says it.

Miles keeps it up, both of them close to laughter now. Another look and Peter's beaming like an idiot. "What if I get the wrong idea?"

"I doubt it."

Peter's hand is touching him, steady fingers splayed on his lower back, barely there but just as present in his mind.

"Suit up. We have a long night ahead of us."

*

The next couple of weeks are a blur, with Miles constantly teetering between his responsibility, mainly to his city— to the neighborhood he's starting to love and between his wants; the neverending desire to be where he knows he's not supposed to be. It's all in his head, knows he's running away from the things he doesn't want to confront just yet. So he runs, and he runs, and he _runs._ He runs right into Peter's arms, day after day, night after night. He's spending so much time over there that Peter starts to expect him, clears out half of his dresser for Miles' stuff and buys him a toothbrush to put alongside his. It's becoming routine. Get up, go to school, go on patrol then crash at Peter's before he's gone again in the early morning. Races through the city and slinks back through his window before his mom wakes up.

They don't talk as often outside of it, what with Peter's job and all. Mostly they just hang out, maybe get some food, watch a movie before they do it all over again. They talk about new gadgets and ideas and far away dreams, tired eyes lighting up with every brush of hands until they look outside and it's morning.

It's becoming harder to juggle. The lines blurring together until even Miles doesn't fully know what they are.

He's pretty sure he loves him in a way he won't ever love anyone else, the care he feels for him too bright, and with just one look he's blinded, but Peter… he's too guarded. He still gets that look on his face every once in a while, the one where it looks as if everything Miles does hurts him. More than anything, he knows that it's guilt.

He still sees himself as his protector, the only thing shielding him from the world's dangers and Miles loves him for it, he really does, but sometimes he wishes it could be more.

He wants all of Peter, not just the part of him that was Spider-Man, or the part of him that saw itself as his shield— but the human part of him, the one that loved Miles unconditionally despite everything else.

He wants him in the night when he's laying right next to him, his body tucked underneath him, Peter's arm snug around him while he snores softly.

He wants him in the day, right when the sun hits and he's looking down at him, the light burning a halo over his head as he kisses him awake.

He wants him sitting at the dinner table, Peter and his mom sharing jokes while he washes dishes, sneaking glances and then he's behind him, soapy hands tangling into his hair.

He wants him to meet him right after school, later on when he's in college, lunch from el jibarito in his hands, another smile as he talks about his day, gives him his jacket as they walk home together.

He wants him older, a streak of grey starting to show in just the right amount and at just the right place where it makes him even hotter, a pair of glasses and he's leaning over some new project that he's working on.

He wants him sitting by a beach from back home, the sand spread around him and the water rushing in their ears as he lays on his chest; tips his shades down until their eyes meet and Peter winks at him.

He wants him in the moonlight, fairy lights and the taste of midori on his tongue as they dance the night away in el viejo San Juan, mouth's meeting— a golden band catching in the light, and it's only him he'll ever need.

He wants him all the time.

He wants Peter in every way that he's allowed.

But he's tired of wanting— of waiting till they have their shit together long enough to where they can put a name on it.

He wants more, and it's not enough anymore.

*

_'We should have dinner— I'll pay. Got something to show you. Maybe we can talk things out after?'_

The lines stare at him through the dark, ugly and burning from his nightstand. Peter ignores it, feels his stomach churn as he replays it in his mind. He wants to say no, delete the message and go back to what he's doing, which is sleeping— safe and sound in his bed. He knows he has it good, knows that what he has now with Miles is even better, maybe the best thing he has going for him in the last couple of years. But it eats at him. Another five minutes and he's getting dressed, shoots a quick message before he's out the door and on his way.

They meet up at Mick's, just like all the other times, except that it's really not like other times. He feels like he's keeping a secret. Almost like he's doing something bad by meeting up with MJ like this, all secretive, hiding behind work to see her. Only sees Miles' face as he slides into a booth and waits for her. He doesn't have to wait long. Even when it feels like it's been hours and his heart is practically beating out of his chest as she strolls in. Her hair is down for once, a simple hoodie and jeans, her legs gripped beautifully by the material. He feels something deep in him react to it, just like old times, but different. She smiles, tucks her hair behind her ear and his chest twinges but not like it used to. It's sad, almost sorrowful, misses something that isn't quite there anymore.

She wasn't his anymore— not like Miles was.

"You look good, Pete. Finally getting some sleep?" She asks absently, leans down and brings out a manila folder.

Peter flushes, the images coming into his mind. There's a bed, but he's not sleeping in it. Instead he's wide awake, tangled in someone else— someone who wasn't her. It's irony, a full out comedy with the knowledge that no, he hasn't been sleeping much, but instead the complete opposite, only looks this good because he's around Miles so much that it's starting to rub off on him.

She pushes it in front of him expectantly, the ends of her nails glistening in the light, sharp and dangerous but too familiar to fire off the alarms in his brain. He stares, blinks slowly in confusion as she looks at him.

She opens the folder, spreads the pictures out until they're covering the table. Some of them are blurry, barely more than smudges and some of them look pixelated, as if they were burned on the way here. He picks one up, really brings it up to his face and examines it. It's a lab, he realizes. The objects in it are unfocused, sure, but the makings of it are all there. He squints, takes in how all of them show this shadow, speckles of black dancing over a lense, splattering like blood and then it's gone.

The lab itself doesn't look much better. It's trashed, the furniture in it splintered and thrown around the room, vials of glass shattered across the floor and flickering lights that do nothing to take away the nauseating green hue from the pictures. In the background large glass cages line the wall. They're stacked on top of each other, seemingly untouched.

"What is this?" He asks in horror, feels his neck tingle the longer he looks.

"That," she leans forward, her eyes aflame, that same brilliant determination she always had shining through. "Is the last known location of Dr. Michael Morbius, lead researcher and professor at Empire State for biochemistry. His specialization being primarily in hematology."

The name sounds familiar but he can't quite remember anybody by that name while he was an alumni there, so it must be someone new.

"He's missing?" Peter puts the picture down, rubs his eyes until the lights go back to normal.

"Only for the past couple of months. Students walked in for a class and they found it like this. He vanished without a trace. No one has seen him for weeks. Not even his family." She's tapping her nails excitedly against the table, her smile wide and infectious, the energy that's coming off of her practically vibrating in the air. She was on another one of her cases. "I think there's a story here, and I want to be the first one to crack it. But I need your help, Pete. I need you… as Spider-Man." She says, guilty all of a sudden. "I just know you'd be able to track him down."

He shuts his eyes, scrunches up his face just as her hand comes to rest on top of his.

"What makes you think there's a story here? One man disappears, and you jump to the conclusion of there being a possible conspiracy—" He says, trying to get her off the scent, anything to dissuade her from investigating it further. It's that same impulse in his brain firing off. The one that felt this incessant need to protect her. It's the same one that ruined things between them in the first place. "Maybe his research led him elsewhere and this is an unrelated cause, completely isolated from the event."

MJ gives him a look.

_As if she bought any of that._

"He's a lead researcher in his prime, Peter. Morbius is critical to practically everyone in his field of study. A nobel prize winner with numerous other accolades, who is on the verge of a breakthrough, and he just…disappears? And you don't think that's strange?" She's looking at him, burning, too bright, jumps in her seat as she takes something else out of her bag.

Peter feels his stomach drop as she pushes a large canine in front of him. It's jagged, almost three inches long, the top of it colored in red and the bottom razor edged. It's stark white, new and untainted, shimmers in the light as he brings it up.

"What did you say his expertise was again?" Peter asks, his voice far away as he examines it. He brings his finger to it, hisses as the tip of it goes straight through his skin like butter. The blood drips down his hand, a trail going down his palm and he's wiping it off him.

"Hematology." She repeats— gets that twinkle in her eyes when Peter finally catches on.

"Where did you get this? From the lab?"

"Had to sneak in, but yeah. It was buried into a metal barrel. There were claw marks everywhere. Pretty freaky stuff."

"MJ…" 

"This is my job, Peter."

She doesn't say it but he hears it anyway. They weren't together anymore. He didn't have any right to worry, to fret over her or shadow her every move so she doesn't get herself killed. She was alone and perfectly fine without him. Maybe even better off because of it. There was a boundary now, something else to distance them away from each other. He doesn't get to have a say anymore.

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't make me worry any less." He says, keeps it casual as he gives it back to her. "So, what, you think they're related? His sudden disappearance, the trashed lab, the leftover tooth? You think it was a hit? Maybe a corporate thing?"

"I don't know just yet, but I dug around the lab, found some documents and all his notes. He's been working for _years_ on a treatment. But only recently did he finally get something to work, or get it advanced enough to where it at least showed _some_ promise. It's a cure of sorts, labeled only as DM-R810." She unravels her hand, lifts her palm up until Peter can see a dark red vial in her grip. Just seeing it gives him flashbacks to two years ago, the feeling of dread crawling up his spine with every bubble that moves inside it. "It's the only sample I could find."

She lets him reach for it, can see the fascination in his eyes as he holds it. It's barely more than a slight press in his hand, the liquid pulsing inside of it and the glass cold against him, but already he can feel the danger emanating off of it.

This wasn't anything good, of that he was sure of.

"You get a copy?"

She pats along her thighs, makes a happy sound as she procures a flash drive in her hand.

"Do I look like an amateur to you? Of course I got one."

He holds his hand out, lets her place it there and close his fingers over him. It feels nice, something old and familiar, comforting even. But it's gone too soon, both of them flinching back at the act.

"You want to know the real kicker though?" Peter hums in response, lifts his eyes to her as he pockets the drive. "Dr. Morbius was interested in chiropterology as well. Particularly in the subfamily desmodontinae and the effects of their blood in conjuncture with human ailments. He's been studying it for years at this point."

Peter leans in and fully immerses himself in her. The way she talked was captivating, so full of passion that he found himself in awe of it.

It reminded him all over again of why he fell in love with her in the first place. 

"And?"

The waiter comes, drops off a tray of cheesy bread and he's digging in, practically scarfing them down as elegantly as he can despite the way his stomach's rumbling. Doesn't realize how hungry he is until he's on his fourth roll and then the salad is coming, both of them laughing as Peter looks up apologetically at the server. It feels good, to let loose like this, like they were back in high school.

Just good friends and nothing more.

"Dr. Morbius was born in Greece with a rare blood disease. He lived in isolation for most of his life. _Until_ he moved moved to New York in the winter of 1997. He continued his work, privately, through grants alongside his childhood friend: Emil Nikos. Together they came up with the first experimental cure. But that was back in '08. Fast forward to the present and Nikos was found mauled to death at the scene of the crime with Morbius nowhere in sight."

Peter slows it down, takes in all the facts until they start to make sense. A rare blood disease, a focused study on bat physiology in hematologic conditions, a trashed lab and a missing scientist whose assistant was now dead. The clues alone don't mean anything on their own, but together they start painting a pretty gnarly picture.

Suddenly, finding this man just jumped to the top of his priorities list.

"You're thinking he used the cure on himself…" he leans back against the seat, a headache coming on at the thought of having to hunt down some out of control maniac through the city. "And _I'm_ guessing it had a less than ideal reaction on the lovely doctor."

"Precisely." Her eyes are focused, her mind chipping away at the mystery at hand. "Now you know why we need to find him, Pete. He could be in danger. He could be putting _others_ in danger."

Peter thinks it over, knows in his mind that there's only one clear answer. He could pull an all nighter, chase the lead on his own, sure, but it'd take him too long by himself, and already he'd wasted enough time. Two people combing the city were faster than one (and way more effective), which meant that Miles would be coming along for the ride.

His chest sinks, gets that overbearing feeling of wanting to protect him before anything else.

Peter sighs.

"I'll get on it— bring Miles along too. Maybe together we can find him quicker while Ganke tries to find other leads. The kid's crazy good. I think he's capable of finding pretty much anything about anyone… which is terrifying now that I think about it."

"And you?"

"I'll analyze the sample later on at home, run some tests on it and see if I can figure out what it's supposed to do. I'm not gonna go in blind and hope it all turns out okay. Not without some idea of what I'm up against first."

_Not when Miles is involved._

MJ nods, reaches for her food before Peter does. It's comfortable at first, then not as much. They're out of sync, Peter drinking while she eats, eyes that don't know where to look. She extends her legs underneath the table, moves them gently until they're pressing into Peter's, their knees touching at the sides. It feels like an intrusion, the gesture very much forbidden in such a tight space.

"Are you…" she pushes the food around, the fork scraping against the plate. She looks up, uncertainty in her eyes. "Are you going home alone? We can trade notes, come up with a plan together… I can keep you company while you work."

Peter's mouth goes dry, the hair on the back of his neck standing up in alert as their eyes meet. She's leaning in, dangerously close, a hand over his and Peter can't move.

They hadn't talked in months. Ever since the trip to Symkaria things were weird after, too tense even while they were supposedly on vacation. They tried the whole being a couple thing again but it fell flat. The sex wasn't even that great anymore by the end of it too. He couldn't get into it, even after months of chasing and waiting and begging for her back only to have her brush him off. Last year wasn't enough to save what they had and they both knew it.

Now they were left with picking up the pieces, trying to mend them back together in ways only either of them knew how. MJ immersed herself in her job, ever the business woman and became a pioneer for a new type of journalism. All guts and full of integrity, daring against every danger in her search for the truth. She didn't call anymore, or try to meet up as often. She was a busy bee now, always had been really. She was the first to drive the wedge between them, and Peter let it happen.

He stopped leaving voicemails, or trying to work around her schedule. He stopped chasing her, got fed up of being a second option. Instead he drove himself to the edge, worked insane hours, both in and out of the suit, kept going till his eyes were bloodshot and his body covered in bruises. He let himself take the pain, weaponized it into a tool of his own destruction. Peter let himself hurt till it was all he felt. The loneliness sinking in as he shut everyone out.

Everyone except Miles.

"I…" he doesn't know how to say it. Peter knows he should pull back his hand— say that it can't be like that anymore, that he's finally moved on and met someone else, but then that would mean admitting that he and Miles were anything more than just friends. Friends who very much did it on the low, he reminds himself. Friends that weren't really friends and were instead in love with each other, but who still didn't call each other boyfriends.

It was certainly a predicament, but there's no way she'd know it was Miles he was seeing.

Not unless he alluded to it first.

"I'm sorry. I'm… already with someone." He says, each word slipping like glass out of his mouth. Peter can only watch as her face falls; sees the heartbreak take over. Her hand stills, soft fingers trying to reach out to him before she moves it. It feels cold, like he's made a mistake. Another long pause and he's searching her face for any other trace of emotion that isn't grief.

But it's all he sees.

"I… what? You're seeing someone else and you didn't think to tell me?" Her voice is soft, every word strung together in pain. "You met up with me, fully knowing I wanted to talk—"

"About the case. I didn't think we were actually going to go _there_." He stabs the pasta, takes an awkward bite as she looks at him. "We've done this how many times now? Two— no, _three_ times. We take a break, tiptoe around each other for months until one of us texts the other and then we're supposed to be okay? I got…tired. You deserved more, and I couldn't measure up. No big deal," he says all fast, not wanting to linger on the more painful aspects of their relationship.

"It is a big deal, Peter. We've been best friends for more than a decade. We were together for almost two years. I'm…" MJ's clenching her hands, the tears almost spilling onto her cheeks. It's a different kind of torture to see her like this. "I'm still in love with you and you just moved on… _without_ me. How am I supposed to take that?"

"How long was I supposed to wait for you then? Another year? Two more months? Maybe I should've waited till the end of next week so you could finally text me back." He hates that he feels like this, that's he's talking to her in this tone where all it translates into is bitterness.

This is MJ— _his_ MJ. She would never hurt him on purpose, yet hurt is all he felt for the better part of a year. Empty and alone and totally at his wits end. It's hard to forget that kind of thing.

"I'm… I'm sorry. That's not fair. I shouldn't have—"

It's too late. Her jaw clenches, her eyes hard now even through the unshed tears, and she's pulling away. He's losing her a second time and it's all his fault.

"Yeah, maybe I didn't call as much as I should have, and maybe I wasn't there for you when you needed me, Peter but at least I loved you." She's seething, not even bothering with her food, her hands shaking. "I still do, actually. All the time— all the nights I spent worrying about you, while you killed yourself over a city that won't even _mourn_ you when you're gone. All the missed birthdays, the holidays, the no shows, the rainchecks. I was never a priority. All the times you almost died and I had to drive you, fully unconscious in my back seat, to the hospital not knowing if this was the time you weren't going to make it. _That's_ the kind of life you gave me, and you know what? I wouldn't have traded it in for anything. So yeah, Peter, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't call, I'm sorry I wasn't there and I'm sorry we didn't work out. But don't act like it's all my fault— like I'm the only one who decided to let go. I was always there, and you weren't."

Her voice cracks at the end, her breath shaky as she wipes the remaining tears off of her face and places some cash on the table. She doesn't say anything else as she stands up, doesn't even look at him as she goes to leave. Peter feels the walls come back up, push until he's on the outside of them again and he can only look in, helpless as he watches her heart break right in front of him.

"Look at the files and get back to me by tomorrow. If we're going to find him then we have to work together. Update me on anything you find." It's back to normal, but he can hear the detachment in her voice. It's clinical, purely business, as she would say.

It kills him that that's all he is.

"MJ…" Peter tries, reaches for her only to have his hand go through air as she steps back. It's too quiet, the rest of the noise blurring away around her to the point where all he can hear is her heart pulsing in her chest, loud and dizzying inside the restaurant.

"Just… do as I ask, Peter. I'll talk to you later."

Peter pulls his hand back, lets her walk away from him for the final time. He feels his heart sink in his chest as her form retreats past the door and into the city, her face bleeding into the crowd until he can no longer see her.

Somehow, it hurts more than anything else ever has.

*

He's getting ready for bed once again (after his seemingly final breakup with MJ, which Peter's sure is a total break-up this time— friendship and all) when he hears the familiar tap on his window. He spares a glance, only to have Miles' face look back at him through the darkness. His lenses are wide, inquiring on whether he's welcome or if Peter is in one of his moods where he'll just tell him to go home. But he's selfish and hurt and he doesn't want to be alone, and Miles is the only one who can ever make him feel better. So he opens the window, lets him in even when he knows he shouldn't. He doesn't know why Peter is really reaching for him, what it means to him when he takes his mask off and looks up at him, brown eyes shimmering in the light, pulling him in.

_Brown and not blue… never blue anymore._

Miles' eyes are prettier anyway, Peter thinks automatically.

The grief is forgotten in an instant.

And then another thought hits him: he cares about him too much.

He really does love Miles more than he has ever loved anyone else, and all it took was one night— one night to create this whole other predicament where Peter's heart was hanging off by a string, barely held together in someone else's hands.

_'I can take care of you. Like you do me.'_

He remembers the promise, said all earnest, warm eyes searing through him and Miles meant it.

Peter grabs his face, lets himself sink into him and kiss him. Miles responds immediately, aching hands sliding up his chest before they wrap around him, lips soft against his, opening up for him. It's addictive, the way Miles is always ready and waiting for him, how he wants nothing else than for Peter to touch him. It's all he's wanted lately too.

He doesn't know what's going on, what Miles is doing to him. Every day that passes it just gets harder to control, to deny what he was starting to feel for him, how he was falling in love with the very thing he was supposed to protect. He made a promise and every night that he's with him, doing what they're about to do now, he's breaking it. Miles would deny it, say that he wanted it, that what they were doing was perfectly fine and that Peter wasn't hurting him. But it wasn't his place. He didn't have any right to be where Miles wanted him to be.

"You're overthinking again," a murmur against his lips followed by a kiss that leaves him dizzy.

Miles tugs on his neck, leads him back to the bed and lays him down. Peter can only watch as Miles strips in front of him, his skin practically glowing inside the small space. He's mesmerized and completely in love with every inch of him, his chest ready to burst as Miles crawls over him. It's slow, Miles taking his time as he slots perfectly on top of Peter, his thighs over his hips like he's made just for him.

It becomes harder to fight it back, to deny himself what he obviously wants— what _Miles_ so clearly wants.

But he doesn't push, only bends down and kisses him. Gentle as lips press against his, searching for love, for the indication that he wasn't wrong in what Peter desired. It's another out. Miles is giving him the chance to say no and push him off. But another kiss, hot hands touching on his neck, caressing him and he _can't_. He doesn't know how he was ever supposed to say no to this.

Peter lets himself touch him, ignores how everything in him screams at him not to and instead let him go, to let him run free with someone else who wasn't him. But just the thought alone kills him.

He doesn't _want_ Miles with anyone else.

His hands creep over his back, fingers steady as they catalogue all the dips and fine lines on his skin. Peter lingers on each one, every press committing that spot to his memory, not wanting to ever forget the way he feels.

Miles is softer than Peter remembers him to be, the muscles he was gaining still buried under soft flesh. But he was getting there, another year and he'd start looking like Peter. All hardened muscle and his body would only know pain— pain that he introduced him to.

"Stop thinking." Miles is looking down at him, brown eyes darkened until they look almost black.

"I'm not." he wraps his arms around him, his hands digging into his skin. Miles' eyes flutter.

"You are— I can tell. You're making one of your faces."

"Faces? What face? I'm perfectly at ease right now," Peter bites back, still enthralled with Miles. He's not even looking at his face. His chest is all he can focus on. The way his breathing is starting to get unsteady, the want buried beneath barely controlled lust, how Miles is turned on without Peter having to do a thing. It makes him feel a whole host of things. Most of them things that Peter had no name for.

"You're making your emotionally constipated face. The one that looks as if someone is disemboweling you. Which is not to be confused with your 'I'm currently dead inside and I'm waiting for God to smite me' face."

"How do you come up with this stuff? My face doesn't give off any of those things."

"Yes. It does," his hand slides under his shirt, warm fingers splaying over his sternum. It's like an anchor, his touch bringing him back to reality.

Peter's body hums, wants Miles above everything else.

He needs to feel him again.

Miles' face changes, his eyes lighting up as he takes in Peter. He doesn't know what he's done to make him look at him like that but it almost breaks him.

"There. It changed," he whispers. Peter moves slightly, hoists Miles' body up and repositions it so he's right over his lap, the pressure almost unbearable now. His hips move on their own without any direction, craving Peter just as much as he craves him.

"Yeah? What's it saying now?" Peter smiles, raises up to meet Miles in the middle, hungry mouths sinking into each other.

"A lot of things," Peter shuts his eyes, lets his voice carry him. "That you love me," a kiss to his neck, right over his pulse. "Even when you don't want to admit it… because you think that you don't deserve it or because you have this idea that you have to earn me first. That you're afraid that I'll be taken away— just like every other good thing in your life."

Peter's heart stops.

That wasn't what he was expecting at all.

He opens his eyes. Miles' eyebrows are scrunched up, his beautiful doe eyes analyzing him. The sadness in them coming forth when he realizes just how right he is— that Peter's been punishing himself for all the ways he loved him.

He's hurting him again.

Miles steels himself over him, careful not to pry too much and have Peter freak out over it. But a part of him, the stubborn part, wants to shed all of his layers off and peer inside the real him.

"That you'd never do me wrong," a hand over the button of his jeans and it's being pulled open, fingers sinking into the skin underneath, "That you secretly love when I run to you. That you love being needed— especially if it's me." Miles rubs up his abdomen, Peter's breath hitching against his lips. "You love it when I stay the night and I'm laid up underneath you. You think I'm asleep but you whisper into my ear that you love me anyway… that you don't ever want me to leave."

Miles is digging too deep, caring hands tearing Peter apart for the world to see.

"You love it when I say that I'm yours… because I'm the only thing you've ever had that's only for you. That you love… _loving_ me, taking care of me… protecting me," his voice dips, deeper now and Peter is lost in it, wants Miles to finish it and burrow himself into the deepest parts of him. "You love it when I take you in all the way, when I move right back against you because I love you and I can't get enough— that I love the way you feel inside me and so do you," his hands come to his face, hold Peter in place as he kisses him. "That right now…I'm all you can think about. That I want you just as much as you want me…"

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like Peter was just that transparent with who he was as a person— and maybe he was. Maybe being with Miles was so easy that it somehow turned effortless.

His face turns, not as lovely as it once was, but instead uncertain— of Peter or maybe of what they were doing right now, what it was turning into. They'd never really talked about all the guilt Peter felt or how different their lives would be if they really decided to be together. He knew they weren't officially a _thing_ , that Miles still didn't call him his boyfriend, that he lied about where he was to his mom all the time— that he never called Peter his anything outside of these old broken down walls. It wasn't a talk he was looking forward to. Because then it meant he'd have to make up his mind and put a name to what he felt… to what both of them were starting to feel.

Miles was more than any one title and yet Peter knew he longed to be defined by at least one of them. Would he only ever be his lover? Here for a moment and then gone, never to be truly his? In love with him only from afar, unable to connect to his most base desires. Would he be his boyfriend? Each night spent holding him, caring for him as he got older, until he was a man and inevitably moved on. Or would he pass all of it and end up as his family? A golden band connecting the both of them forever? The loneliness in him yearned for everything.

Even if it breaks his heart.

Peter strokes his cheek, a familiar ache eating at him, taking more and more from him till he was empty. He can love Miles all he wants for as long as he has him… and that would have to be enough.

"You _do_ want me as much as I want you, right?" He asks, voice weak, tearing itself apart at the thought of Peter refusing him.

Peter stops and Miles grabs his hand, nuzzles his face into it until the whole side of his face is engulfed by it. Peter reciprocates the touch, tired eyes drinking in his form. Miles sighs. It's happy, blissful, and as he turns his face he comes to kiss along his palm. Peter watches his eyes, loves the way they burn into him, searching for him— always searching for him, wanting him above all others. Even when they were the only ones in the room.

"Yes," he speaks out, barely there. He angles his hand until it rests along his jaw and Miles sinks down, kisses along it as well, goes all the way up his forearm until Peter's hand is finally trailing down. It rests over his collarbones, slides into the back of his neck and pulls him down over him.

_'You can't have him.'_

They kiss again— soft, tasting each other and Peter almost fucking cries.

_'It'll never be yours.'_

He doesn't know what to do, how to prepare himself for this kind of heart break.

But then he says it, the one thing that makes him feel like everything will be okay: "I love you."

It's what he always says, and Peter doesn't understand why. What was so amazing about him that kept Miles coming back? What could he provide that Miles didn't already have?

_'He'll always leave.'_

The thought comes again. Louder this time.

Miles doesn't stop kissing him, even when he reaches with delicate hands and unbuttons his shirt. He takes his time, a tongue reaching inside his mouth, wanting only to taste him. And when it's done, Peter sits up, lets him drag the shirt past his shoulders and down his arms. He lets Miles undress the rest of him too. His insides bleeding as soft hands take care of him, patching up wounds that he will never see.

_'What will you do when he's in the arms of another?'_

_'Will you still love him? Even when he's no longer yours?'_

_'Will it eat at you?'_

_'Would you let him go? Knowing how it ends?'_

Peter can't stop the pain he feels, the mourning he's already doing for something he hasn't yet lost but which will inevitably be ripped away from him. It was a cycle, almost gospel at this point— that to be him was to lose.

"Just relax, Pete," Miles says from above him. "Let me take care of you. It's okay."

Peter doesn't argue, doesn't say anything as Miles lays the both of them down. He's naked now, Peter's hand inside his body, preparing him and then they're on their sides. They usually do it face to face but tonight Peter doesn't want to be watched and taken apart. He just wants to lose himself in the feeling of having Miles close like this, to burn his shape into his mind for when he no longer has him.

He lifts his leg and just like that, they're melting into each other. He feels like heaven—like everything good and sweet and pure, like everything Peter could ever love in another human being. He kisses along Miles' neckline, breathes him in until he's all he can smell. Somehow, he's become his favorite scent and after, when they're done, and his sheets smell like him, it'll be something else he'll never forget.

_'He'll be gone soon and then what will you do?'_

Peter doesn't want to know.

All he cares about is him, about how he feels now inside this room and nothing else.

He's gentle with him, not like their other times where all Peter does is take— giving Miles what he wants but never more. He's deliberate with every touch, every shift of hips, with every kiss he places upon his skin. He needs it to last, for it to mean more than what it already does.

And when Miles cranes his head back and lets Peter place a mark on him, just like he did on him weeks ago, his fingers resting along his jaw— Peter almost loses it.

This was love.

This is what it feels like to love someone else completely and somehow it had found him, made a nest in his heart— never to let go.

Miles was his home.

_'You always have been, my love.'_

It echoes.

And it just makes it hurt even more.

Because he has to say goodbye to it one day.

But not tonight, for tonight, under these stars, Miles was his.

And when they're done, he holds him, lets Miles curl into him. Bodies so close that he loses track of where the other begins. Peter shifts onto his back, pulls Miles on top of him until his head is resting on his chest, his arms wrapped tight around him.

He's snoring now, his legs tangled in Peter's and maybe he won't ever leave.

He kisses Miles' face, right under his eye and then up to his temple, soft fingers caressing him under the covers. He doesn't want him to disappear, to leave him just like everyone else has.

Peter looks down.

He's sleeping without a care next to him, safe and sound— somehow in love with Peter and it feels like he's cheated. Like somewhere along the line, in luck and in fate, he's bent some unwritten rule to get where he is now. But he doesn't care. Peter just holds him, revels in the way his body molds to him, warm and comforting inside his bed.

Being with Miles makes everything okay again, no matter how bad his life got.

It kills him that he has no one else to share in that joy with.

 _'May would have loved you,'_ Peter thinks, _'May_ **_did_ ** _love you.'_

He thinks about bringing him home, the two of them sat around the table while Peter helps cook. They're talking, sharing stories and then May's showing Miles all of his old drawings and embarrassing pictures, back when he wore those awful glasses and dressed like a dork. But it's perfect. He cooks for the both of them, and she looks back, saying that she approves, like Peter knew she would because Miles is absolutely amazing. And afterwards, he takes him home, a kiss by the door before Miles goes back inside.

But Peter doesn't want to think anymore of what could've been or what will never be.

It hurts too much.

So he falls into him, wraps his body around him and goes to sleep.

And when morning comes, and the daylight is streaming through the curtains, setting Miles' skin ablaze in burning gold and his arms are still reaching for him— wrapped around him, not once letting go— Peter sighs.

It's morning and he's still here, still in love with Peter and still dreaming next to him, unfazed with the world around him.

For now...he's still his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it :')))))))))
> 
> This took such a large amount of effort and honestly, nothing's better than hearing all your thoughts on it!!!! If you loved it, tell me!!! If you hated it, tell me!!!! Drag me through the dirt, let's start a fight in the comment section idk akddhsjsjs.
> 
> The last part of the chapter originally did not exist, but instead there would be actual plot but I just kept getting stuck in it and it felt like I was in purgatory so it will be used for the next chapter. Thank you all for being patient 🥺🥺🥺
> 
> As always you can find me on tumblr as: tomlinzou
> 
> Also, check out the playlist, I use it when I write and it fucks: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5QAWNw4sbyGi29McWIDmcW?si=FrmqTpsGQWSOhlrDeJecmQ


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